


Missing Pages

by rotaryphones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-26
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotaryphones/pseuds/rotaryphones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Battle of Hogwarts Report</i> has been released and social tensions are on the rise, but Cedric is faced with more personal tensions when he is enlisted to find a missing friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, b00kaddict, who was so instrumental in getting this entire thing organized and off the ground.

The way Cedric Diggory saw it, Harry Potter had a responsibility.

Not that Potter hadn’t done enough already. Cedric wasn’t trying to trivialize his accomplishments, as though such a thing were even possible. And he knew that Potter had never asked for fame, never asked to symbolize hope for millions of witches and wizards across Europe, and he had certainly never asked for that scar on his forehead. From the moment Potter had been placed on a pedestal, he wanted off—Cedric understood and respected that.

But the fact remained that after the war, Harry Potter was the one person with enough political sway to step forward and affect some _real_ change in the world. And although he had refused that responsibility in the past, Cedric was certain this would be the perfect opportunity to reconsider.

“He’s not going to do it,” Hermione said.

Cedric put his fork down. “How do you know until you ask?”

Hermione sighed and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. The Ministry cafeteria in which they sat was nearly empty this late in the day, the only other sounds coming from the house elves in the kitchen as they cleaned. Hermione had chosen this time specifically for the lack of distraction, and now she attempted to steer Cedric back to the matter at hand.

“I don’t _have_ to ask him,” she said. “And I don’t see why I should. You’re far better at public relations anyway.”

She was trying to dissuade him with flattery, but Cedric wouldn’t be put off quite so easily. Frankly, he’d always found Hermione a bit overprotective of her famous friend, and he was convinced Potter should be given the opportunity to decide for himself. “I just can’t see why he’d turn us down. All we’re trying to do is protect people.”

The war may have ended four years ago, but people still needed protection. Cedric saw it all around him these days. Anti-muggle sentiment ran as high as ever in certain quarters, the magical beings Hermione worked with had to struggle for the most basic rights, and people were being locked out of jobs just because of their family name. Then, to make matters worse, just last week the Ministry had finally released their official report of what had transpired at the Battle of Hogwarts. Whatever tensions had eased in the intervening years were quickly returning to the surface. Protection was now more important than ever.

That was why Cedric and Hermione had taken it upon themselves to draft an antidiscrimination bill for the Wizengamot. And that was why they needed Harry Potter’s public support if they ever wanted it to pass.

It seemed like infallible logic to Cedric, but Hermione shook her head. “It’s a moot point. Trust me. You don’t know Harry like I do.”

That, at least, was something Cedric couldn’t argue with. Hermione’s friendship with Harry had famously predated their sorting, and outlasted her relationship with Ron.

“Right then,” she said, leaning over to rummage through her bag. “I managed to stop by the Allocation Department this morning, and I’ve reserved the Ketteridge Auditorium for two weeks from now.”

“Ketteridge?” Cedric interrupted with a grimace. The only press conferences held there were the ones covered exclusively by the _Quibbler_. “You couldn’t get anything larger?”

“I know it’s not ideal, but it will have to do. We’re not exactly supporting a popular cause, you know. The employee at the Allocation Department refused to believe we’d draw any crowd, let alone the hundred we predicted.” She extracted one of her notebooks and a quill—Cedric had never known her to be without either—and wrote something down. “How are we doing on numbers, by the way?”

“I’m working on it,” said Cedric hesitantly. “I do have confirmation from at least one person at the Prophet.”

“Oh that’s wonderful news!” Hermione said, brightening. Cedric noted the surprise in her voice. Ever since they had become friends, he had watched her learn the hard way that being the genius best friend of Harry Potter earned you no more respect than being a Triwizard Champion. People might ask for your autograph, but unless you had been at the Ministry for at least twenty years and with all the right connections, they wouldn’t ask for your opinion.

Hermione suddenly looked up with narrowed, perceptive eyes. “Hold on. When you say ‘person,’ you _do_ mean ‘reporter,’ correct?”

“Well…not precisely. But she told me—”

“Of course,” Hermione interrupted with a huff. “I should have known it would be a ‘she.’”

Cedric scowled at her, placing both hands on the table. “I’ll have you know, Miss Granger, that I don’t appreciate your implications. I am perfectly capable of drawing a male audience to this function.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t doubt that you can—assuming they’re all homosexual.”

He managed to glare at her for a good ten seconds while she stared back defiantly. Then they burst out in simultaneous laughter.

“This press conference is going to be a disaster,” Cedric half-jokingly lamented. If only he could find a way to convince Potter to make an appearance.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione assured him. “We’ll find something other than your irresistible charm to attract people.” She looked to her watch, then began gathering her things. “I must be getting back, I’m afraid. Same time tomorrow? We can start working on your speech if you like.”

“Absolutely,” said Cedric. He leaned back and let out another chuckle. “And make sure to keep an eye out for any single gay wizards with influence.”

Hermione gave him an oddly polite smile, then turned and left.

***

The next day at noon, Cedric stopped by the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, only to discover that Hermione hadn’t come in to work.

Cedric didn’t think much of it. There was something he’d been putting off for a week now, and this seemed as good a time as any to get it over with. Lunch in hand, he returned to his desk in the Department of International Cooperation and, after a moment’s hesitation, cast a locking charm on the door. He removed a thin book from one of his drawers and placed it on the desk.

It sat there for a minute, ominously staring up at him. The book had a plain black jacket, pristine and new, with small silver writing along the spine. Amazing that something so innocuous could cause so much unrest. He figured he had until the press conference to read it so he’d know what kind of reactions to expect, but that didn’t make the task any easier. Cedric tapped his fingers against it in agitation, then tried to stall for a few moments by starting on his lunch only to find that he was no longer hungry. With a deep breath, he opened to the title page while the binding creaked in protest.

 **  
_The Official Ministry of Magic Battle of Hogwarts Report_   
**   
_  
As Commissioned by the Wizengamot and Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Following this were a list of names of those who had conducted the research, some Cedric recognized and some he didn’t. He flipped to the preface.

 _We hereby present the official account of the events that transpired from six o’clock in the evening on May 12, 1998, to three o’clock in the morning on May 13. The information provided in this book was compiled from first hand accounts, extensive magical diagnostics of the Hogwarts castle, and countless hours of Death Eater interrogation. We believe it to be an accurate summary of the Battle that ended the Second War, both a tragic and triumphant event that will forever shape the Wizarding Community._

 _Before examining these facts, we at the Ministry of Magic wish to start by offering our sincerest gratitude, and the gratitude of all Wizards and Witches everywhere, to the brave men and women whose names appear in the following pages. We would also like to take this opportunity to commemorate those who lost their lives in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The price they paid will not be forgotten._

Cedric shut the book.

Maybe he wasn’t ready for this. His heart was pounding as though he were facing a boggart instead of a book. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that these were nothing more than printed words on parchment, and that _he_ of all people shouldn’t be affected by it. Regardless, he knew he wouldn’t bring himself to read it, not today.

What a coward he’d become.

Carefully picking up the Report once again, Cedric flipped instead to the index in the back, scanning the names for the ones he would recognize. He didn’t bother to look for his own.

 _Scott Levine, Auror, 82, 84, 98-99, 101-102, 158-162, 170_

He read through the page numbers methodically, wondering which of his friend’s accomplishments had been worthy of inclusion, and which had been left out of history. Was there mention of the curse that nearly took Scott’s arm? Did the pages at the end describe his painful month long recovery in a too-crowded, understaffed hospital room?

He ventured ahead to the following page, which read:

 _Matthew Moore, Auror, 82, 90-92, 189_

Cedric traced Matt’s name with his fingers. He knew what these numbers represented: the final moments of his friend’s life. There they were, clutched between his hands, accessible to anyone who wished to read them. Matt’s sacrifice distilled to five pages.

And what made it all the more jarring was that on the page opposite Matt’s sat the entry for _Potter, Harry_. The numbers that followed this name seemed to go on forever, probably extending far past the end of the page, escaping death over and over again, accomplishing the impossible, and then stopping abruptly at the back cover.

Cedric closed the book again gently. He still had two weeks before he absolutely needed to read it. Putting it off for another day wouldn’t hurt.

***

Cedric continued to look for Hermione over the next two days, but she remained conspicuously absent from the office, unusual considering her aversion to sick days. In fact, the more he asked around, the more worried he became. No one in her department seemed to know exactly where she was, or else they wouldn’t tell him. Even her friends hadn’t heard from her in some time. Worst of all, a solemn atmosphere seemed to have fallen over the Aurors, which was never a good sign.

Cedric didn’t want to seem paranoid or intrusive, but he had finally decided to owl her when Scott stopped him in the hall and pulled him off to the side. “Hey, I heard you were looking for Hermione. Has anyone told you what happened yet?” Panic washed over him, but Scott noticed and quickly reassured him. “Don’t worry, she’s fine. It’s not her. It’s…well, it’s Ron Weasley.”

It was in a tone of voice, hushed and grave, that Cedric hadn’t heard since the war. He thought of the book still locked in his desk drawer and felt suddenly nauseous. ”What happened?”

Scott sighed, and it wasn’t until then that Cedric noticed how exhausted he looked. “We don’t actually know. He’s been missing since Monday. Went on a routine disturbance call and never came back. The Aurors are trying to keep it quiet, but…I don’t know how long that’s going to last. This is bad news for our department, not to mention the entire Ministry. I mean, we haven’t lost anyone so prominent since…”

Cedric nodded. He didn’t need Scott to finish that sentence—it had become habit between them to avoid mentioning the war.

“Anyway, that’s why Hermione hasn’t been in,” Scott continued. “We’re keeping her and Harry at arm’s length for now, at least until we make some headway. She’s pretty shaken up from what I heard. I’m sure she could use some support.”

Cedric was still reeling from the news, and it took a moment before he noticed the knowing look Scott was giving him. He stepped back and ran a hand over his face. “I _told_ you, it’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

Scott raised his hands in defense. “Hey, sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything. Listen, mate, I have to run. I’ll keep you posted, all right?”

Cedric watched him disappear around the corner, and sank back against the wall. There was nothing he hated more than feeling helpless.

***

After work, Cedric apparated straight to Hermione’s flat, and then stood nervously at her doorstep. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for him to be there; he was hardly her closest friend, and what could he possibly say? But he had to say _something_. Feeling like an intruder, he knocked quietly on the door, a knock that seemed to echo through the empty landing.

After a brief moment and the sound of shuffling feet, the door opened slowly, just a crack, and then flew wide as Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

“Cedric,” she said into his shoulder before stepping back. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please, come in.”

Cedric followed her through the doorway, taking in the details of her small, tidy flat. A well-worn sofa sat against one wall, and a coffee table stood before it, topped with a decorative tissue box and a small mound of used tissues. A kitchenette opened up on one side of the room, a bedroom through the door on the other. A blazing fireplace was nestled in the corner. The photos that sat on the mantelpiece above remained mostly still—muggle—although there were a few that eagerly waved at him; Cedric could pick out the red headed figures even from a distance.

And there, seated in a chair that faced the fireplace, so still that at first Cedric mistook him for furniture, was Harry Potter. Harry was eyeing him carefully, a calculating gaze that wasn’t exactly friendly, and certainly didn’t make Cedric feel any more welcome. Cedric offered a small nod, which Harry didn’t return. He simply went back to staring into the fire.

“Can I get you some tea?” Hermione called from the stove. She looked unsteady as she set the water boiling. Cedric wanted to help, but Hermione probably needed something to do with her hands. Instead he stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, wondering once again why he had come, and whether he should give his condolences and quickly leave. It was clear, at least, that Potter didn’t want him there.

Hermione reentered the room, holding her own mug and levitating the other before her. Cedric caught his with a muttered, “Thanks.”

“Sit down, please.” She motioned to the sofa, and Cedric took the offered seat, Hermione sinking down next to him. “So then.” She eyed her tea, spinning the mug in her hand. Her voice was tense and strained. “So I suppose you heard about—about what—”

Hermione suddenly burst into tears, and before Cedric could say or do anything, Harry was there next to her. He pried the mug from Hermione’s fingers, and Hermione immediately clung to his waist. With her head buried in his chest, she made no attempt to stifle her sobs, while Potter mutely rubbed her back. He looked up at Cedric, and the question was unmistakable: _Why are you here?_

Cedric was asking himself the same thing, and didn’t need any more of a hint. He placed down his tea and moved to stand, but Hermione spun around and caught his wrist.

“No. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Cedric sat back down and placed his hand over hers. “ _I_ should be sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in here like this…”

“Don’t be stupid.” Hermione let out a sigh, reaching for a new tissue and adding it to the pile when she was done with it. “Of course I appreciate that you came. I just wish I weren’t such a _mess_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You look gorgeous to me.”

Hermione choked out a wet laugh. “Always the flatterer.”

Cedric smiled briefly and then looked down at his lap. Their usual banter sounded horribly inappropriate in front of Harry, who remained sitting protectively close on Hermione’s other side. It would probably be best if he just said what he came to say, then quickly left. “I’m so sorry about what’s happened. I’m sure that … well, I just wanted to let you know that if there’s anything at all I can do to help …”

He was angry with himself the moment he said those words. What an awful, empty thing to say, and it only served to remind himself of his own uselessness.

But to his surprise, Hermione gave him a serious look, and then turned to face Harry, whose expression darkened. He shook his head once, sharply. Hermione gave him a pointed expression, and his eyebrows came together in frustration. Then he spoke.

“Hermione, _no_.”

Hermione let out a ragged sigh. “Why are you being so difficult about this? I don’t see—”

“Because this isn’t about _him_.” Harry’s eyes darted in his direction, and Cedric suddenly realized that he was the subject of their silent discussion. He found himself even more uncomfortable than before, not to mention a bit annoyed at Harry’s rudeness.

“This isn’t about _you_ either! This is about _Ron!_ ” Hermione choked out the name, and turned to face Cedric again. Harry grabbed her shoulder, but she shrugged him off, looking determined. “Actually, Cedric, we could use your help.”

“Hermione, I’m not getting him involved!” Harry insisted.

Hermione ignored him. “First of all, you should know that Harry and I aren’t waiting for the Aurors to find Ron. It’s not that we don’t trust them, it’s just—” Hermione paused, and gave another small laugh. “All right, no, we don’t trust them. So we’ve been trying to track Ron down ourselves. I’m only telling you this because I trust you to keep quiet about it.”

Cedric nodded, although he wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. “Of course.”

“The problem is that we don’t really know anything,” said Hermione with a sad shrug. “We already talked to the last person Ron spoke with. Just some witch up north who thought the cat going through her rubbish might have been a Death Eater.” Cedric wasn’t so surprised to hear this; everyone had been a bit on edge since the release of the Report last week. “And after that, he just—Apparated off. We don’t know where.”

Cedric listened carefully as Hermione spoke, waiting to see why she was sharing this information, while his eyes and thoughts kept wandering to Harry. This was the first time they had really interacted since the Tournament, and the first time Cedric had seen him up close, aside from press photos of a scowling man trying to cover his face.

In some ways, Harry bore little resemblance to the frightened kid who’d once out flown a dragon. The Harry Potter he used to know had been on the brink of adolescence: features caught somewhere between cute and handsome without achieving either, some added inches that only accentuated his skinny build, and a terrible posture to boot. The man sitting on the couch, however, was clearly an _adult_. He still had a small frame, but it had filled out considerably. He had a hard jaw line and confident eyes. He wasn’t handsome, not in the way Cedric knew himself to be handsome, but there was still something unconventionally attractive about him. Maybe it had more to do with the way he carried himself than his looks alone.

On the other hand, there were so many ways in which he hadn’t changed. His hair was still a scruffy mess that may have looked intentional five years ago. He still wore those unflattering frames, although Cedric was certain he could afford better. And he still had a terrible posture. Although now it didn’t seem to be a result of teenage awkwardness so much as a desire not to be seen.

Harry caught him staring, and Cedric immediately looked away.

“To be honest, I’m not sure where we go from here,” Hermione was saying. “And the Aurors are being frustratingly tight-lipped. They keep telling us Harry’s ‘too close to the case’ or some rubbish.”

“It’s because they know you too well,” Cedric suddenly interrupted, thinking of what Scott had told him earlier. “They know you’ll want to try and find him on your own, and they don’t want you getting underfoot. Or worse, making them look bad.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Harry. “We could be helping! We know Ron better than anyone.”

“I’m not saying I agree with it,” Cedric quickly added. Although, considering Harry’s record of bending the rules, he understood why the Aurors would want to distance themselves. He looked to Hermione expectantly. “So…what exactly do you need me to do?”

Hermione looked a little uncertain. “You don’t—you don’t have to, you know. It’s just that no one will tell us anything, and well, I thought…”

She trailed off, but understanding coalesced in Cedric’s mind. “You thought I could get you information.”

She looked back at Harry, before turning to Cedric and nodding. “I understand if it’s asking too much.”

Cedric was silent as he gave it some consideration. Hermione knew what she was asking, and she knew it wouldn’t sit well with him. He could get the information easily enough; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that the Aurors had their reasons for withholding intelligence, whether he agreed with them or not, and she was essentially asking him to go against a Ministry department. That just wasn’t the way he did things. And then there was Harry. Should he really be taking risks for someone who didn’t even want him to?

Cedric quickly glanced over at him, and found Harry boldly staring back. Yet, to his surprise, it wasn’t hostility that he saw in Harry’s eyes anymore. It was a _challenge_ —as though he didn’t think Cedric had it in him to say yes. As though this were some sort of test of character. There was an intense determination that lit up Harry’s face, a refusal to sit back and do nothing, a willingness to do whatever it took, and he was just daring Cedric to do the same.

Despite his misgivings, the clear challenge sparked something in Cedric’s chest, something exhilarating. He remembered standing in front of a goblet, one hand hovering over the rim clutching a tiny piece of parchment with his name.

Cedric looked Hermione in the eye and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

The midday crowds walking through Diagon Alley were bundled up against the chilly autumn weather, but the café table at which Cedric sat with Scott was protected by a cozy warming charm. They gave their lunch orders to the server then leaned back in their seats, enjoying the weak sun.

“I don’t care what they tell us,” said Scott, propping his feat up on the empty chair next to him. “Spelled windows are no substitute for proper sunlight. I feel like a wilting plant in there.”

“I know what you mean,” Cedric agreed. He’d felt distracted all day, and the fresh air was already doing wonders for clearing his thoughts.

“Does that mean you’re going to stop avoiding me at lunch, then?”

The question was teasing, not accusatory, but it still left Cedric with a pang of guilt. It was true that he rarely joined Scott on his lunch excursions, but he hadn’t accepted this particular invitation to make up for it. His ulterior motive was already making him feel like a miserable friend.

“Now why would I avoid a charming bloke like yourself?” he joked to hide his discomfort. More seriously, he added, “You know I don’t usually like being too far from my desk,” which was true.

Scott snorted and replaced his feet on the ground. “ _You_ , my friend, need help. Help and a social life.”

Cedric sighed, reaching for the drink that floated up to the table. “You’re probably right. And I don’t just say that because you’re charming.” He took a sip and asked, “How about you, then? How’s ... Debbie, was it?”

“Debbie?” Scott repeated, making a face that told Cedric all he needed to know. “I told you, mate, Deb and I broke up last week. I’m seeing Alison now.”

Cedric racked his brain for any mention of an Alison. “From the front desk?”

“Merlin, no! Alison from the budget office. You remember her. Short, black hair; great tits.”

“Ah yes, of course,” said Cedric, nodding. “How could I forget that gorgeous head of hair?”

Scott laughed at that. “I swear, you’re such a poof.”

Cedric grinned in response.

Conversation paused as the server returned with their meals. After a few bites, Scott looked up and said, “Seriously though, I wish you’d get out there more. I know you have standards and all, but I’m telling you, there are plenty of worthwhile birds around. And it’s not as though anyone’s going to turn you down. If you’re interested, I could always set you up with one of Alison’s friends—”

“Er, no, that’s okay. Thanks anyway.” They ate for a few minutes in silence. Cedric wasn’t opposed to meeting someone new; the idea of a steady girlfriend definitely had appeal after more than a year of being single. But as much as he might enjoy a future relationship, he hated going on dates. Detested them, in fact. Especially blind ones. In his experience, making awkward small talk over dinner with all of that hovering expectation was no way to start anything. He preferred getting to know someone gradually, organically, so that when things turned romantic it felt natural instead of forced.

Scott, however, thought this was an elaborate excuse to be antisocial. Maybe he was right. “Well,” said Scott, “Alison and I are going out to a pub tonight. You should at least join us.”

“I can’t,” said Cedric apologetically. “I was planning to go to Hermione’s after work.”

He immediately regretted saying that last part. Scott’s eyebrows shot up, and he did a poor job of suppressing a smug expression.

“Again?” is all he said.

“Yes, again. Why, is that all right with you?” Cedric replied defensively. Then he sighed. “I’m just worried about her is all.” He paused, suddenly sensing his opportunity, and unsure if he wanted to take it. Nothing about the situation sat well with him, but he had made a promise and he wasn’t about to break it. He tried to sound casual as he asked, “You don’t have any leads yet, do you?”

The atmosphere shifted for a moment as Scott studied him. If there were leads, Scott would know. Over the years he’d acquired a reputation for being discreet, and so the Auror Department trusted him with information that couldn’t be leaked to the press. Scott, in turn, trusted Cedric in the same way. Whenever he needed to get something off his chest, or work out a particularly challenging puzzle, he invariably turned to Cedric who was always glad to listen without repeating a word.

And now Cedric was betraying that trust.

Scott leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, and lowered his voice a fraction, though there was no one nearby to overhear. His tone and demeanor turned instantly sober. “There’s nothing to _find_ , really. Ron Disapparated to Merlin knows where, and no one’s seen him since. There’s not much we can do about it, except talk to everyone on the bloody planet. And believe me, we have.”

“So that’s it? You have no leads at all?” Cedric hoped he didn’t sound too suspicious.

“Well, no. We have some theories.” Scott looked around once more to make sure no one was paying them any attention. “We were able to send specialists to the spot of his last known Apparation while there was still evidence. Do you know anything about trace measurement?”

Cedric shook his head.

“Okay. Well, the basic premise is that all magic leaves traces, yeah? And it takes more energy to travel longer distances than shorter ones. So if we get to an Apparation spot before it goes cold, someone with the right training can calculate the amount of magic that was expelled.”

Cedric was impressed; even after all this time, the Aurors still managed to surprise him. “That’s possible? So you know how far he traveled?”

“Exactly. It tends to be a bit dodgy, so there’s always a significant margin of error, but we’re pretty sure that Ron went somewhere between forty and fifty kilometres from the point of departure.”

Scott pulled out his wand and began drawing a rough map on the table, with Ron’s last known location at the center, and major towns and wizarding villages in the surrounding 40-50 kilometre radius. It was obviously a map he knew by heart; Cedric hid a smile. Some wizards became Aurors because of the authority and respect it garnered, or the imagined glamour. If Scott had originally signed up with the Auror Academy for those reasons, he had stayed because this was what he loved: detective work, problem solving.

“We’ve narrowed it down to about five likely destinations.” He pointed to spots on the map as he talked. “There are these three wizarding villages, although we’ve asked around and no one reports having seen him. One advantage of it being Ron Weasley is that everyone knows what he looks like, so he wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. Of course, he could be under a disguise. Then there’s a muggle town in the southwest. Nothing special about it, far as we can tell. They’re hosting a muggle car show this weekend, but I never pegged Ron as a car enthusiast.”

“Maybe he’s gone to surprise Arthur with something?” Cedric suggested. He didn’t know much about the Weasley family beyond their surface reputations. Arthur loved muggle things. His wife, Molly, was purportedly the overbearing sort. And together they had raised a litter of children that ranged from stuffed shirts to pranksters to dragon tamers. He knew all of this, yet hardly knew them as people, and really, he had no business interfering with their lives. Doubt began to resurface, but he did his best to ignore it.

Scott, who’d likely considered every possibility by now, brushed his idea aside. “Even if Ron did want to see cars, why go three days in advance? And at night? It was 7:00 pm when he left – already dark out. And that’s the other thing: Ron’s smart enough not to go Apparating somewhere he’s never been before, especially at night. I’d be worried he got himself stuck in a wall or something, but I’m sure someone would have noticed and reported it by now.”

With a flick, the map in front of them dissolved. “What was the fifth possibility?” Cedric asked.

Scott frowned. “A small muggle airport.”

Cedric took in the implication. He knew from Scott that muggle transportation was a common choice for wizards who wanted to travel undetected. “You don’t think…”

“That he took off without saying anything? Nah, Ron doesn’t strike me as the type, you know? Maybe Harry, but not Ron. He’s too reliable for that.” Scott paused, staring at the people rushing past and going in and out of shops, his mind visibly working out the possibilities.

“So, what _do_ you think?” Cedric prompted.

Scott sighed and returned to his meal. “At this point everyone’s convinced he was attacked, plain and simple, but … there has to be more to it than that. Ron has his enemies, yeah, but he’s a grown wizard, not to mention an Auror and a war hero. He knows how to defend himself. And what I don’t understand is where was he trying to go? Who the hell could he have run into?”

They considered the question in silence. Cedric hoped at least some of this information would be useful to Hermione, especially considering what it would cost his conscience. Then Scott said something that took Cedric by surprise. “I’m sorry I don’t have more information for you.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and Cedric understood. Scott earned a living being observant. He knew damn well where this information was going; he had known all along. Just like that, the tension between them vanished, and Cedric felt his unease suddenly dissipate.

“I really hope you find him,” said Cedric, trying to express gratitude with his sincerity.

Scott brushed it off with a friendly shrug. “You and me both.”

***

Cedric knocked on Hermione’s door, and was momentarily taken aback when Harry was the one who answered. He was even more surprised when Harry actually looked pleased to see him. That eager expression was gone in a flash, but it helped to make Cedric feel just a bit more welcome.

“Come in,” Harry said, stepping aside.

The apartment looked just as it had the night before, but Cedric immediately sensed a different mood in the air. Hermione, who had her wand out over the sink, turned and greeted him with a radiant smile. She looked much better than yesterday—as did Harry, for that matter. They no longer had the look of people forced to sit back and do nothing. Cedric was glad he could offer them a sense of purpose, at least, even if he didn’t have very much to tell.

“Cedric,” said Hermione, “you’re just in time for dessert! Harry’s baking some biscuits.”

Cedric noticed the ingredients spread out on the counter, flour and eggs and sugar. “You do baking?” he asked without thinking. His voice betrayed his level of surprise.

“Sort of,” was Harry’s vague response. He walked past Cedric and picked up where he must have left off, measuring things manually in muggle containers, then dropping the contents into a large bowl.

Cedric leaned against the counter and, while making small talk with Hermione, watched Harry in profile as he worked. If this made Harry self conscious, he seemed determined not to show it. He retrieved a wooden spoon from a drawer—again, no wand—and began stirring the mixture. It seemed to take some effort, his tensed arm muscles an indication of the batter’s resistance. Cedric didn’t understand why magic wasn’t being used, but it made the whole process somehow fascinating.

“That looks delicious,” he said, watching the mixture evolve into batter.

“Er, thanks,” Harry replied. The compliment seemed to take him by surprise, and he flashed an awkward half-smile. “I guess you could say it’s a family recipe. Of sorts.”

Cedric countered with one of his intentionally disarming grins. “Well, as I’m sure Hermione could tell you, I couldn’t toss a salad to save my life.”

“Fortunately, no one’s life depends on your tossing a salad,” Hermione called over her shoulder. Cedric caught Harry’s glance and they both rolled their eyes, then indulged in brief, silent laughter.

When Harry began arranging spoonfuls of batter onto a tray, Cedric suddenly remembered his manners. “Can I help?” he asked. Although that might have been a silly thing to offer right after announcing his ineptitude.

“No,” said Harry, with surprising vehemence. In a friendlier tone he added, “Thanks anyway,” but it seemed to Cedric that their brief moment of camaraderie had passed.

Hermione may have sensed it as well. She put away the last clean dish, then came over to place a hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “Don’t mind Harry, he’s unbearably stubborn. Why don’t you have a seat, and once he puts those in the oven we can talk.”

It was clear from her tone what they would talk about. When Hermione and Harry joined Cedric in the other room, their expressions were tense with anticipation. Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees; Hermione sat with her back very, very straight. For a moment there in the kitchen, Cedric had nearly forgotten the serious matter he’d come to discuss.

“So,” asked Hermione straight away, “Did you manage to learn anything? I’m almost afraid to ask—I can’t imagine the Aurors know all that much.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric saw Harry lean forward. “No, not much,” he admitted. He relayed most of what Scott had told him. The whole time, he felt the heat of Harry’s gaze on the side of his face.

When he finished, there was a solemn pause before Hermione spoke. “At least we can rule out some silly theory of Ron getting on a muggle aeroplane,” she said with conviction.

Cedric was about to agree when Harry spoke up. “You sure about that?” he muttered.

“Of _course_ I’m sure!” Hermione swiftly asserted. “Ron wouldn’t just run off without telling us.”

For some reason, this made Harry defensive, his words coming out more bitter than he probably intended. “Maybe _you_ know what he would or wouldn’t do, but I sure as hell don’t. For all I know, he decided to hop on some plane to America to start a new life.”

“Harry, that’s preposterous!”

“He could be _anywhere_ , Hermione. He could be halfway across the world _right now_ , living off his savings.”

“No, he couldn’t,” Cedric interrupted.

Harry leaned back and crossed his arms, ignoring Hermione’s scandalized expression to fix his suddenly confrontational air onto Cedric. “And how do you know that?”

He asked the question like an Auror interrogating a suspicious witness. When, Cedric wondered, had he become the enemy again? He resisted the urge to remind Harry just how much he was risking to help them. “Ron can’t withdraw from any bank other than Gringott’s,” Cedric explained. “Muggle-borns aren’t always aware of that, but Ron would have known. If he decided to run off, he’d have to empty his account first.”

Harry stared at him hard for a minute, and then his expression softened. “Ron doesn’t even like planes,” he admitted with a weary sigh. “And I've already checked his place. Nothing’s missing. It’s just…”

Here he trailed off, but Hermione finished his thought for him. “It would be easier to believe he disappeared voluntarily.”

Harry looked at her, then excused himself to check on the biscuits. Cedric said nothing, giving Hermione a chance to think about the information and no doubt store it for later. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but it made Cedric feel like an interloper. Had he overstayed his welcome? Did they want more of him, or did they want him to leave?

Harry returned a moment later, a plate of aromatic biscuits in hand, and the first thing Cedric noticed was the new shift in his demeanor. “You know,” said Harry, no longer brooding but full of excitement, “Cedric has a point. Assuming Ron was acting voluntarily, he’d need to visit Gringotts eventually. He doesn’t usually carry that much gold on him. If we find out the time of his last visit, we could rule out a lot of possibilities.”

“Well that’s easy, then,” Cedric joked. “Just convince the goblins to break their precious client confidentiality.”

Harry turned to Hermione and shrugged with one eyebrow raised. Cedric suddenly remembered that he was talking to the people who had _broken into_ Gringotts four years ago. Who knew what they were capable of? Part of him didn’t even want to know what they were planning, while the other part was dying of curiosity.

“Do you really think he would?” Hermione asked.

“Maybe,” said Harry. “It’s worth a shot. And we’re just looking for information; not as though we’re asking him to steal anything this time.”

Hermione frowned. “Let’s just hope _he_ sees it that way. Shall we go tomorrow?”

“Yeah, the sooner the better.”

Hermione turned to Cedric. “Thank you so much for your help – I don’t know where we’d be without you.”

Cedric took that as his cue to leave. He was already on his feet and ready to bid them goodnight when Harry cut him off.

“You should take one before you leave,” he said, brandishing the plate of biscuits he still held. Cedric took one gladly. “You can come if you like,” he added in exactly the same tone of forced nonchalance. “Tomorrow, when we go to Gringotts. If you’re helping us, you may as well be there.”

Cedric froze with the biscuit halfway to his mouth. The last thing he expected was an invitation. At this point, he hadn’t a clue what Harry thought of him, and he had to admit it was oddly flattering that he’d gained his approval and trust. Cedric didn’t even consider the possibility of implicating himself in something illegal when he blurted, “I’d love to come.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione. Whether her surprise was directed at the spontaneous invitation or the eager acceptance, Cedric couldn’t quite tell. He had actually surprised himself with his own enthusiasm, but he had no intention of backing out.

“I’m sure,” he said. Then, casting around for a way to prove his commitment, he noticed the biscuit still in his hand. Cedric raised it in the air. “Cheers,” he said, taking a hearty bite, which had the desired affect of making Harry smile. It was amazing how much more approachable Harry seemed when he smiled.

The biscuit, incidentally, was delicious.

***

The next day, Harry and Hermione explained everything as they walked from The Leaky Cauldron.

“So,” Harry said, keeping his voice down, “you remember the sword of Gryffindor, from when Neville used it to kill the snake?”

The question came out of the blue and nearly caused Cedric to lose his footing. Harry didn’t know. How could he not know? Cedric thought everyone knew by now the fact that he hadn’t been at the Battle of Hogwarts, at all. And yet here was Harry asking a perfectly innocent question that assumed otherwise. No wonder he’d invited Cedric along—he probably thought his name was among those engraved in the new memorial at Hogsmeade, probably assumed a lot of things about Cedric that weren’t even true. Cedric did not want respect earned on false pretences, yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to correct the mistake. Not there, anyway, in the middle of Diagon Alley with everyone staring. Avoiding Hermione’s eyes, he shrugged and nodded, vowing to come clean to Harry later on.

“Well, the sword is actually goblin-made. Wizarding records say it was given to Godric Gryffindor, but goblins claim it was stolen. Either way, they still think it belongs to them—they see it as borrowing, really, not something permanent.”

Harry glanced over to Hermione as though to make sure he’d gotten it right, which made Cedric smile. She must have had quite the influence on him over the years; most wizards didn’t understand, or didn’t bother to understand, the subtleties involved in the goblins’ views of ownership and property. Cedric already knew most of this, but he didn’t interrupt as Harry continued.

“So when Neville pulled the sword from the hat, the goblins considered it a sort of legal theft.” Harry paused, and Cedric nodded again to show he understood. Harry shrugged. “When I explained that to Neville, we both decided to return the sword to the goblins—and that’s why we’re still on good terms with them.”

Cedric was floored by that simple, unexpected statement. Understanding goblin culture was one thing. But going out of one’s way to convince a friend to give up a priceless, hard-won artifact? Cedric wasn’t sure even he would have thought to do that. It showed an incredible amount of selflessness, and though Harry had a reputation for being selfless, here was the actual, tangible proof. Cedric looked at Hermione who was grinning at his flummoxed reaction. As though reading his thoughts, she held up her hands in a gesture that said, _I had nothing to do with this_.

“You mean Neville just went along with it?” Cedric asked.

Harry didn’t seem to find that as shocking as Cedric did. “Yeah, of course. He didn’t even want that sword. It’s not like he was going to do anything with it.”

“I heard it was stored in some secret room at his grandmother’s house.”

“We started that rumor, actually,” Hermione said. “We thought it would be best if people didn’t know what happened. Most wizards wouldn’t be too pleased about Gryffindor’s sword going back into goblin hands.”

Cedric agreed with her. And yet if he had been in Harry’s shoes, he probably would have turned the gesture into a public statement on goblin rights. It gave him a lot to think about as they walked the remaining distance to Gringotts.

There was a small crowd of people gathered in front of the bank, and as Harry, Hermione, and Cedric approached, their loud chatter diminished to an instant hush. Cedric thought he was used to a certain level of celebrity, but it was nothing compared to this, the exaggerated whispers and stares that followed them as they passed. Wizards had no subtlety, he thought. It was no wonder Harry put up such a defensive front in public.

They entered the bank, and Harry asked if the three of them could speak to a goblin called Griphook privately. There was a visible look of eager hope on the goblins’ pointy faces; they were probably wondering if another artifact might be returned to them.

With much pomp and circumstance, the three of them were led to a room that was small but lavish, with priceless treasures hanging from the walls. The room was also well guarded. Cedric guessed that it was typically used for closing clandestine business deals with the wealthy, designed both to impress and to intimidate.

He was removed from his thoughts when a particularly sour-looking goblin—Griphook, he presumed—entered the room and locked the door behind him. He sat across from them, clasping his long fingers together then giving them all a cold, appraising stare. For a moment, no one said anything to break the silence.

Then Harry spoke first. “Thank you for meeting with us, Griphook. I’m afraid we’ve come to ask you a favour.”

Cedric had to keep from cringing. He would have used a _bit_ more tact than that, and he was surprised when Griphook didn’t throw them out immediately.

But perhaps the goblin appreciated the frankness, for he nodded once to show he understood. “I suppose it would have been naïve of me to assume that you had come to return another of our possessions. In fact, I had been wondering how long it would be before you asked for something in return.”

“Wait, that’s not fair,” Harry said. “It’s not like that. I’m not even asking for myself.” He paused. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about Ron Weasley going missing.”

“Yes, I have heard of this,” Griphook said without sentiment. Even though the disappearance hadn’t been made public yet, Cedric wasn’t surprised. Half of the Ministry were gossips, and the goblins were very shrewd at staying on top of current events.

Harry seemed uncertain how to proceed. “Well, we were hoping … I’m not asking for a lot. Just, if you have any information about Ron, at _all_ , like whether he’s been to his vault recently…” Harry trailed off as Griphook’s expression darkened.

“Mr. Potter, we goblins are sworn to confidentiality with regards to our clients. We do not, under any circumstance, give out information, regardless of how many swords we are bribed with, or how close you and your friend may possibly be.“

Something struck a nerve. Harry’s expression darkened, but Hermione quickly placed a cautionary hand on his elbow, then took on the plea.

“You don’t understand. We’re not asking for this in _exchange_ for the sword. Harry returned that because it was the right thing to do. What we’re asking for now, it’s only to protect our friend—there’s no personal gain involved. And I can promise you, if you help us, we won’t repeat a word of it to anyone, wizard or goblin.”

Griphook grunted in doubt, but seemed to give the matter due consideration, resting his chin on his laced fingers. There was a long, uncomfortable silence that Cedric suspected was intentionally drawn out. Then Griphook spoke again, addressing Hermione.

“I know of the Wizarding-Goblin Treaty you attempted to pass last year. It was an admirable effort, despite being extremely naïve. And we felt it granted far more protection to wizards than was warranted. Still, we were saddened to see it fail. Not surprised, but saddened nonetheless.”

Hermione stared at him with her mouth hanging slightly open. Cedric thought that she might have bristled at the ‘naïve’ comment had she not been so thoroughly shocked. Hardly anyone outside the Wizengamot even knew or cared about the treaty, because the Ministry had wanted to keep it under wraps. Anything involving goblins these days was simply too controversial. It was hardly a surprise when the bill crashed and burned on the hearing floor, though Cedric knew Hermione had been greatly upset at the time. Now, she thanked Griphook in a small voice.

“Against my better judgment,” he continued slowly, “I would like to help. I trust the two of you to keep a secret, and I also trust that you would use the information selflessly.” Griphook stopped to give a pointed stare in Cedric’s direction. Cedric didn’t look away or otherwise back down from the implied challenge.

“ _Him_ , however, I have no reason to trust.”

Harry’s temper visibly flared once more. Cedric decided to speak for himself before Harry said something to ruin what little chance they had. It made him wonder, once again, why Harry had even invited him.

“Sir, the only reason I’m here today is because we wanted to be completely honest with you. I’ve been helping them look for Ron Weasley, so any information would have come back to me in the end. This way, what you tell us never has to leave this room.” He was being honest about his intentions to keep his mouth shut. And keeping this from Scott was actually a difficult promise to make.

Griphook still looked unconvinced, until Hermione leaned forward and said, “You know, Cedric is the one who helped me write the treaty and get it in front of the Wizengamot in the first place.”

Cedric’s help at the time had been minimal, but this seemed to finally placate the goblin. Griphook nodded again solemnly and said, “Very well. I’ll tell you what I think is relevant to your search, but no more. And what I tell you is not to be repeated to _anyone_.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, looking at once relieved and nervous about what was to be said.

Griphook let out a long sigh. “Ron Weasley last made a withdrawal from his vault this past Tuesday.”

“The day _after_ he disappeared?” Hermione cried.

Griphook held up a hand to silence her.

“He arrived at 6 AM when the bank opened, wearing a simple disguise of a few glamours. We took him down to his vault where he retrieved some of his gold, though I will not tell you the amount. He was gone by 6:30. Before he left, he asked us not to reveal to anyone that he had been there.” To emphasise what a breach of protocol he was committing, Griphook took a few moments to give each of them a piercing glare.

Next to Cedric, Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Cedric’s brain ran through the information, probably wondering the same things they all were: was this good news or bad news? If Ron was well enough the next day to visit Gringotts, did that mean he was safe, or did it mean that he was in trouble?

“So that’s it?” Harry asked. “Can you tell us anything more, anything about his state of mind, or why – why he didn’t want anyone to know where he was?”

“I cannot. You should consider yourselves fortunate I told you as much as I have.”

“At least tell us what his glamour looked like. Did he change his hair colour, or–“

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. All I can tell you is that they clearly did not want–“

“ _They?_ ” Harry shot forward in his seat, gripping the armrests. “Someone was with him?”

Cedric hadn’t even noticed the slip, and clearly neither had Griphook. He paled as much as it was possible for a goblin to pale, looking absolutely horrified with himself. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet. One would have thought by his stance that he was prepared to fight.

“ _No_ ,” he said. “I will not divulge any more information about our clients. I have said far too much already.” He crossed the small room in a few strides, and threw open the heavy door in one swift motion. “ _Get out_.”

For a moment, Cedric wasn’t sure if Harry would. He was giving Griphook one of those stares of his, the one that looked as though he were rallying all of his magic for a wordless strike. Cedric had been on the receiving end of those stares a few times already. But then Hermione whispered, “Let’s go, Harry,” and soon the three of them were outside, blinking in the sun glinting off of the shops.

Cedric waited for Harry or Hermione to speak. Finally, Hermione let out a slow breath and said, “Thank goodness he’s safe.”

“We don’t know that,” Harry snapped. “He could have been there with an accomplice, or—“

“Accomplice?” Hermione interrupted. “Accomplice in _what_?”

Harry ignored her. “Or he could have been there with a Death Eater. Maybe someone who wanted his gold. All we can say for sure is that he wasn’t blindly attacked the day he disappeared, and if he ran off, he didn’t do it alone.”

Hermione brought a hand to her temple and shut her eyes. “Ron did _not_ run off,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t do that. Not anymore.” Cedric didn’t know what _that_ was referring to, but he knew better than to ask. He was increasingly getting the sense that something important was going unsaid. At the very least, it seemed clear that the beloved trio was not what the media made them out to be, which was no surprise to Cedric.

“I can try and find out if anyone else has gone missing,” he offered. “It might tell us the identity of the second person.”

Harry looked relieved. “That would really help. I can’t ask until Monday without sounding suspicious.”

“Will you be around tomorrow night?” Cedric asked. At this rate, he would be visiting Hermione’s on a daily basis. Scott would no doubt have something to say about that.

“Actually, I’m babysitting tomorrow,” said Harry, which by that point was one in a long string of surprises.

Cedric couldn’t possibly imagine Harry Potter with kids, since he had seen nothing of Harry’s personality that would be conducive to babysitting. Did he coddle them? Threaten them? Ignore them? “Where are you babysitting?” Cedric asked. “I could meet you there. That is, if it’s okay with the parents, and it’s not too much trouble for you.”

It was such a transparent attempt to insinuate himself into Harry’s personal life that it was embarrassing, but Harry didn’t seem bothered. “That wouldn’t be any trouble. Actually, I wouldn’t mind the company.” He turned to Hermione. “Will you be there tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I can make it. I have too much work to catch up on before Monday. But I’m sure you or Cedric can fill me in at the office.” She smiled at both of them, looking strangely pleased about something. Cedric could just imagine the conversation they’d be having on Monday; something along the lines of, ‘I told you Harry wasn’t what he seems.’ Cedric was certainly beginning to see that for himself.

A few hours later, Cedric made a floo call to Scott. “Hey, mate, are you going out again tonight?”


	3. Chapter 3

The Tonks residence, Cedric decided, was a pleasant source of contradiction. It was small, yet managed to give off a sense of wealth and comfort. It held an odd combination of priceless family heirlooms, modest, well-worn furniture, and colorful toys strewn across the floor. And despite this clash of clutter and elegance, everything seemed to be in its right place—including the four-year-old boy with the mint-green hair who played with a muggle toy truck on the antique Persian rug.

It was a little strange being in the house without Mrs. Tonks present, but Harry had insisted that Cedric wasn’t intruding, and Cedric actually believed him. Harry had been all smiles and bright, flushed cheeks when he answered the door.

“Cedric, hi! Sorry I’m out of breath; I was just giving Teddy hippogriff rides around the room, but I think he’s getting too big for me.”

The peculiarity of that statement made Cedric laugh. “Well, thanks for letting me stop by. I’m looking forward to meeting this hippogriff wrangler.”

Harry ushered him in eagerly, as though they were the closest of friends and this were a normal occurrence. Cedric was then introduced to Harry’s godson. Teddy was an energetic and, well, brightly colored child who clearly looked up to Harry as though he were a god. Harry, in turn, looked at Teddy with such adoration that one would assume they were father and son.

Actually, it was hard to reconcile this version of Harry with the man who scowled in all the papers, moving within his small circle of friends and keeping everyone else at a distance. With Teddy, Harry practically radiated love, as though he had more than he knew what to do with. With such an excess of affection, it was no wonder he was suddenly a well of hospitality.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Water? There might be some leftovers from dinner.”

“We had chicken nuggets!” Teddy announced. He brought his toy truck to a violent end, slamming it into the rug amidst sounds of explosions.

“I’m fine, thanks,” said Cedric. “But I did bring something for Teddy.”

The truck’s imagined wreckage was instantly forgotten as Teddy sprang to his feet. “What is it?”

Cedric squatted down to Teddy’s eye level, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature troll doll. It was spelled to stomp around a bit and brandish its soft plastic club. Cedric’s cousin, who was around Teddy’s age, had one and loved it.

It seemed Teddy had similar tastes. “Can I have it please?” he asked, eyeing it greedily as it walked about Cedric’s palm.

“On one condition,” said Cedric. “Harry tells me you have a very special talent. Can I see it first?”

“Do the one with your ears,” Harry stage whispered.

Teddy closed his eyes, clearly concentrating very hard. Even before anything happened, Cedric was impressed a four year old was capable of that level of focus. It was generally rare for children to control any type of magic before the age of six. But sure enough, as Teddy held his breath and puffed out his cheeks with the effort, his ears began to grow and expand until they were about the size of his hands. He held it for a moment before letting out his breath with a huff, and letting his ears deflate back to the normal size. “Can I have it now?” he asked.

“Absolutely. That was amazing!”

Teddy snatched it up without further comment, swinging the toy around the room as though trolls could fly.

“What do you say?” prompted Harry.

“Thank you,” said Teddy. He returned to where Cedric was still crouching, and handed back the toy. “Hold on,” he instructed.

A minute passed while Teddy rummaged through a bin of toys in the corner. Cedric looked up at Harry and smiled. “He’s a little ball of energy, this one.”

“More like a little troll,” Harry replied, though he was beaming. “Let me know if he’s bothering you. I can always find something to distract him with.”

“No, not at all. How could I be bothered by someone so clever?” The last comment was directed towards Teddy, who had found what he was looking for and was now bringing it over to show Cedric.

“Look what I have!” Teddy brought the doll up to Cedric’s nose for his inspection. He leaned back, giving himself enough distance to actually see what it was, then started laughing involuntarily when it came into focus. Clutched in Teddy’s tiny fingers was no other than Harry Potter himself.

“Oh no,” said Harry as he crouched next to Cedric. “Teddy, do you have to? Really?”

Teddy didn’t seem to notice the mock distress in Harry’s voice. “We’re going to play Battle of Harry! I’m Harry, and you be the bad guys.”

Cedric couldn’t possibly hide his amusement. He’d be teasing Harry mercilessly about this later. “And who’s Harry going to be?”

It seemed that Teddy hadn’t thought of that yet. He pondered for a moment, then decided, “He can be the castle.”

“What?” cried Harry. “What if I don’t want to be the castle? What if I want to be Harry?”

“You _can’t_ ,” Teddy explained. “You already are him.”

“ _Duh_ ,” added Cedric, barely able to keep a straight face. He took a more comfortable position on the ground, and prepared to attack. “Now where is that Harry Potter?” he demanded in his best troll voice. “I want to eat him.”

The game lasted a good half hour, with Cedric constantly on the prowl, and Teddy making up new elaborate ways to defeat him every time. Harry seemed content to just watch, inserting commentary on occasion like, “That’s not how it happened,” or, “Harry, look out behind you!” It felt a bit surreal at times to be battling Harry’s likeness while the real Harry watched. His scrutiny, which Cedric was constantly aware of, made him want to restrain himself and show off in turn.

Sadly enough, it was probably the most fun Cedric had had in a long while. It only came to an end when Teddy started becoming explicit with his instructions. “Okay, you stand there and point your wand at me. And you say—”

“Trolls don’t have wands,” Cedric pointed out.

“You’re the bad guy. You point your wand and say, ‘I killed your family, and now I’ll kill you!’”

That was when things turned uncomfortable. Cedric suddenly realized what game they were actually playing. The Battle of Harry was the battle that neither he nor Teddy had attended, and here they were recreating it in front of the man who had been at the center. There was no way those words were coming out of Cedric’s mouth. He looked over at Harry to gauge his reaction.

Harry didn’t look angry or upset, but he had gone very still. Cedric had previously noticed Harry’s ability to completely mask his thoughts at any time, and now Cedric had no idea how to respond.

“You know what?” Harry said, bringing himself to his feet. “I think it might be Teddy’s bed time.” He sounded as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, so Cedric took his cue from that. He got to his feet as well.

“No!” cried Teddy. “I don’t want to go to bed. I want to play some more.”

Harry crossed his arms and fixed Teddy with a stern look. “You can play some more tomorrow. Cedric is going to leave your new toy here for you, but right now you need to change into pajamas so I can tuck you in.”

“ _No,_ ” Teddy repeated. He stood and planted his feet firmly, looking petulant. There were few wizards willing to stand up against Harry Potter, and Cedric was a little concerned about how he would react.

Harry didn’t seem bothered. He raised one eyebrow and, to Cedric’s alarm, took out his wand. “Am I going to have to make you?”

Teddy grinned. “Make me! Make me!”

“ _Levicorpus!_ ”

Teddy squealed in delight as Harry lifted him into the air and floated him up the staircase. This was obviously a long-standing tradition between them; it was like witnessing some secret ritual. “This might be a while,” Harry said, following behind the bobbing head that began changing from green to blue to striped in yellow. “Make yourself at home.”

The two of them disappeared around the corner of the second floor landing, taking the sounds of their laughter with them. Cedric, now alone in a stranger’s house, stood there awkwardly for a moment, taking in his surroundings. Without much thought, he wandered over to the large built-in bookcase and lightly dragged his fingers over the titles. _Your Metamorphing Child_. _Complete Guide to the Phases Of the Moon_. _Protecting Your Family_. He stilled when he reached _The Battle of Hogwarts Report_ , the spine already creased.

Even reading the title gave him uncomfortable chills. Cedric still hadn’t read the copy stowed away in his desk at work, even though the press conference loomed ever closer. He had an easy time coming up with excuses: he was too busy with work; he didn’t want anyone looking over his shoulder as he read. But what it came down to was cowardice, plain and simple. Cedric was afraid of hearing the details of what his friends had suffered, and he was afraid of the guilt. He had been nearly paralyzed with guilt after Matt had died, and he couldn’t afford to return to that mental space now.

And yet, he was growing more and more curious about what was contained in those pages. He knew the events of the battle in broad strokes, but he was missing all of the details. Take Harry, for example. When You-Know-Who said, in so many words, “I killed your family and now I’ll kill you!” how had Harry responded? Was he full of bravado? Was he uncertain? Was he afraid? Cedric no longer felt confident in his own assumptions. Teddy probably knew more about that day than Cedric did, and he was four.

He eased the book off the shelf. Better to do it now while he had the courage. Instead of starting from the beginning, however, he flipped to the back, to that final confrontation that Teddy had wanted to reenact.

That moment had been etched in the memories of so many. The charred ruins of the Great Hall were described in perfect detail, from the clear night sky above to the corpses that lined the ground. Every word spoken between You-Know-Who and Harry were recreated with the same precision, complete with annotation where annotation was possible. And yet, although Cedric went over the chapter twice, memorizing the details and doing his best to read between the lines, none of it answered his question. Nothing in the Report spoke of Harry’s state of mind, or his tone of voice, or whether he was able to hold his wand steady. It didn’t tell Cedric what it was like to be there; all the book held were facts.

Cedric heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and immediately shoved the book back into place before turning around. Only then did he notice how his heart was pounding in his chest—he hoped Harry wouldn’t notice.

“He put up a good struggle, but he’s in bed,” said Harry jokingly.

“He’s a great kid,” Cedric remarked, forcing himself to take calm, even breaths.

Harry dropped to one of the overstuffed armchairs and grinned. “He’s an incredible kid. Takes after both his parents.” He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, as though he could see through the floorboards and into Teddy’s room. “I just want his life to be—easy, you know? As easy as it can be, at least.”

Harry’s hushed tone, presumably to keep from disturbing the sleeping kid upstairs, made everything he said sound deeply personal. After the earlier incident at the Battle of Harry, Cedric wasn’t exactly sure where they stood. He just hoped he wouldn’t say the wrong thing. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Harry smiled. “I think you have it backwards.”

“I’m sure it goes _both_ ways,” said Cedric, taking a seat nearby. “You’re really fantastic with him.”

“So are you—I can’t believe how much he loved that stupid troll.”

Cedric shrugged. “What can I say? I know how the fastest way to a four-year-old’s heart.”

Harry chuckled, then lifted himself to his feet. “Sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“Actually, I will take some water, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not. Honestly, Cedric, you’re too damn polite.” Harry shook his head, then disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned a moment later, pressing a cool glass into Cedric’s palm, and returning to his seat. Cedric had already learned enough of Harry’s expressions to recognize the one that meant business. The small talk would have to wait. “So, did you talk to Scott?”

“Yes,” said Cedric, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small, folded piece of parchment. “Though there’s nothing that stands out, I’m afraid. A child’s gone missing in London, and of course there’s the usual list of Death Eaters at large.”

Harry quickly scanned the parchment, his focus so intense that Cedric was surprised he didn’t burn a hole into it. “You’re right,” he said. “Nothing stands out. Most of these people have been missing since the war. Though it’s always possible there’s a disappearance no one’s reported yet.” He refolded the parchment.

“I can show that to Hermione on Monday if you like. I’m guessing I’ll see her before you do.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Harry handed back the list, leaning forward so that their faces were a foot apart. He studied Cedric in that position with an unreadable expression. There was a pause before he leaned back and said, “Can I ask you something?”

Cedric nodded. “Of course.”

“Why haven’t you ever asked out Hermione?”

Cedric was a little blindsided by the question, though he supposed he should have seen it coming. Most of his friends asked him the same thing at one point or another. Then again, most of his friends weren’t as close to Hermione as Harry was, and Cedric was a little surprised Harry didn’t already know the answer.

“It’s…I don’t know. It’s not that way with us. We’re just friends.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, still not satisfied. “And you’re saying you couldn’t be more?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I don’t think we’ll ever be a couple.”

“Because Hermione means _everything_ to me, and if I find out you’ve been leading her on or something—“

“I’d never do that,” Cedric cut in, raising his hands in defense. “I did ask her out. Once.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “When? She never told me this.”

“It was shortly after she and Ron broke it off.” What he didn’t mention was that he’d recently gotten out of a relationship as well. At the time, it had all made such perfect sense. Hermione had everything he had always looked for in a witch: intelligence, independence, compassion, an unconscious sort of beauty. Add to that a year of growing friendship, and their relationship had seemed inevitable.

“So what happened?”

“The last thing I expected,” said Cedric. He looked at his lap in embarrassment, but also to hide a smile. “She turned me down.”

Harry seemed just as surprised as Cedric had been at the time. “Why?”

“Apparently we’re too similar.”

Harry gave him an incredulous look, and then he started laughing. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t find that so funny.”

Cedric laughed with him. “Oh, I know. Only Hermione, yeah? At first I was just completely dumbfounded, and a fair bit humiliated. But after the initial shock wore off, you know how I felt?” Cedric shrugged. “Relieved. Hermione’s like a sister, as corny as that sounds. I’d never want to jeopardize that.”

“Well I’m glad,” said Harry. “She thinks the world of you.”

“And you,” Cedric countered. He took a sip of his water, then asked without thought, “What about you? Why haven’t _you_ two ever gone together?”

It was clear Harry didn’t expect his question turned back on him. His face became guarded, and he narrowed his eyes. “Hermione didn’t tell you?”

Had Cedric crossed a line? There seemed to be so many with Harry. He placed his glass on a nearby end table. “Tell me what?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. A silent minute passed before he seemed to reach a decision, and squared his shoulders defiantly. “That I’m gay.”

Cedric stared at him in shock, and belatedly remembered to respond. “Oh.” For a moment, his mind was a blank and that was all he could think to say.

Harry’s confession was so personal, despite all of his carefully constructed walls, that it was as though he had suddenly stripped naked—which was _not_ the metaphor that Cedric should have chosen, and he immediately scrubbed his brain of that image. Harry had just opened up to him, and Cedric needed to be compassionate, not vulgar. If he was reacting so strongly, it was only because he’d never actually talked with an openly gay wizard before, and his previously blank mind was suddenly consumed with curiosity and bursting with questions. Completely inappropriate ones such as, “what’s that like?” and “how is it being with another bloke?” The silence began to stretch to the point of being uncomfortable, and Cedric felt required to say something, inappropriate or not.

“For how long?” he heard himself asking. He immediately felt like the biggest prat in the world. “Sorry if that’s rude to ask. I mean, you went out with Cho after we had broken up, and I thought you were with the Weasley girl for a while.”

Harry took a deep breath. He didn’t look too pleased about the line of questioning, nor did he look too surprised. “With everything going on while we were at school, I had more important things on my mind than figuring out who I fancied.” There was an edge to his voice that spoke of his own discomfort. Still, he continued. “Ginny was…well, Ginny was safe I suppose. She was the first one I told. And Cho—Cho was a complete disaster. You remember that.”

Cedric snorted. “How could I forget? She dumped me for you, then she ended up coming _back_ to me for advice.” He kept his tone light so Harry would know his confession hadn’t changed things, because it hadn’t. Really. Cedric was a modern wizard and he didn’t care about anyone’s sexuality. Except his own, of course, but no one was calling _that_ into question, and this wasn’t about him anyway, he reminded himself. “So…how do you know? I mean, was it something you had to figure out?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and Cedric was made aware that he was walking a thin line. “I think it was always there, before I put a name to it. I always liked girls more in theory than in practice. But yeah, I guess I worked it out after the war.” Harry looked down for a moment, and Cedric noticed his hands were clenched. “Anything else you want to know?” he asked, looking back up. Cedric couldn’t tell if it was a genuine invitation or a warning to back off. Maybe a little bit of both. In any case, he held back the urge to ask, “Who have you shagged?” and he definitely didn’t allow his overactive imagination to guess.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I guess I’m just surprised you’ve managed to keep it from becoming common knowledge.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean why isn’t my sexuality all over the cover of Witch Weekly? Because my private life is none of their bloody business. And I work hard to keep it that way.” He gave Cedric a threatening look, but for once, Cedric understood Harry’s desire for privacy.

There was another silence before Cedric spoke. “Thanks for telling me.“

“Yeah, sure,” said Harry, the threat gone. Now he only sounded a bit awkward and shy. He ran a hand through his hair, and Cedric could almost imagine what another bloke might see in Harry, especially in these rare moments when he let his guard down. “You’ll keep it to yourself, right? It’s not exactly something I go around telling everyone.”

“Of course,” said Cedric with as much sincerity as possible. He wasn’t sure what he had done to earn Harry’s confidence, but he was glad of it.

Just then, a small voice drifted down the stares. “Harry?”

Harry stood up and excused himself. “I’ll go see what he wants. It won’t be a minute.”

Cedric remained where he sat, lost in thought. It was amazing that so much could be contained in one person: hero, prat, godfather, and now this. It was equally amazing to Cedric that Harry was willing to share it with him. Hermione’s teasing voice in the back of his head explained, “He’s only interested in your pretty face,” but that was purely narcissistic, and not something he wanted to consider anyway. Instead, he wondered what it had been like for Harry, especially after the war. To come to terms with being gay while under the world’s scrutiny must have taken a different kind of courage; perhaps it accounted for some of Harry’s public withdrawal. How many others even knew about it? Did Mrs. Tonks, for example?

As if on cue, Cedric heard the front door creaking open. Harry was still upstairs, so Cedric could only hope his presence wouldn’t be a shock. He stood as Mrs. Tonks, a tall, dark haired witch entered the room. “Hello,” he said.

She jumped a little in surprise, and Cedric saw her hand move to her wand before she composed herself. “Oh my,” she said, moving the hand to her heart instead. “You gave me a bit of a fright. Harry didn’t tell me someone was coming over.”

“Sorry to scare you. Harry’s just popped upstairs to check on Teddy. I’m Cedric.” He offered his hand and a smile.

“Andromeda. Pleased to meet you.” Her hand was delicate, but her handshake was strong. She turned to hang her cloak on the wall. “You’re the Diggorys’ boy, yes? I used to be in school with your father. How is Amos?”

“He’s well, thank you.”

Andromeda turned again and faced Cedric. Her eyes, which studied him, suddenly seemed unbearably sad. She took a step forward, reaching out to touch his cheek with her fingertips. “He must be proud to have such a handsome son.”

Cedric didn’t know how to respond, and it was as though her fingers had frozen him in place. Before he arrived, he had learned of how Andromeda had nearly lost her entire family in the war. Cedric never knew what to say to those who had sacrificed so much more than himself.

He was spared the need to say anything when Andromeda quickly composed herself, smiled brightly, and moved towards the kitchen. “You work in the Ministry, correct?” she called back to him. “Are you an Auror like Harry?”

“No, I work in the Department of International Cooperation.”

Harry came down the stairs at the same time Andromeda reemerged from the kitchen.

“Harry, hello!” she greeted him warmly, moving forward to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Teddy just fell back asleep. He was perfect as always.”

“I’m glad. Thank you again for watching him on short notice. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m afraid I’m exhausted. Is there anything you need before I go to bed?”

“No at all,” said Harry. “We’ll just be off.” He motioned for Cedric to follow.

“It was nice meeting you,” said Cedric on the way out the door. Andromeda waved and smiled in response.

Outside, he and Harry walked together for a bit in silence. The air was chill and dry in a way that indicated the approach of winter. “She was awful,” said Harry out of the blue. “After the war. She could barely take care of herself, let alone Teddy.”

“She seems to be doing well now,” Cedric noted.

Harry nodded. His breath was visible as he exhaled. “She’s much better. Although it was hard on her all over again when she read that Report.” He smiled at the path in front of them. “Hermione thinks she’s seeing someone.”

“Really?”

“Well, she won’t tell me why she keeps heading out at night, but Hermione’s usually right about these things.”

Cedric let a beat pass, then asked, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Harry abruptly stopped in an alcove of hedges, out of view of the neighbors. “Why?” he asked with a sly grin. “You asking me out, Diggory?”

Before Cedric could answer, Harry Disapparated.


	4. Chapter 4

Cedric felt distracted all the next morning. It didn’t help that his inbox was full of meaningless paperwork, nothing substantial enough to hold his interest, and so his mind kept wandering to other recent events.

He thought about the approaching press conference he had barely prepared for, and Ron’s disappearance regarding which they had seemingly run out of leads, but inevitably, like a determined bludger, the thought of Harry kept returning. Harry, who was gay. Last night Cedric had been supportive and happy to classify the news as “no big deal.” Today, with everything else he had to worry about, he found the confession irritating. What was he supposed to _do_ with it? Why did Harry even bring it up in the first place?

Cedric realized, of course, that he was having a very irrational response. At some point his memory had transformed that moment of trust and candor into one of boasting, of Harry Potter being the martyr once again. Then, that last teasing comment— _you asking me out?_ —was almost a challenge. As though Harry were asking if Cedric were man enough to deal with open sexuality. Of course he was, but now he felt like he had to prove it. Spending time with Harry seemed to require proving himself constantly, over and over again. Despite the rewarding moments that came at the most unexpected times, Cedric was getting tired of it.

Hermione must have recognized Cedric's mood at lunch, because she didn’t once ask about his evening at the Tonks’s, even when they went over the missing persons list together. Cedric didn’t offer up any details, either, except to say how much he had enjoyed meeting Teddy. They talked about the press conference a little, but Cedric’s heart wasn’t in that either, and he went back to his desk early, citing a workload he didn’t actually have.

By the end of the day, Cedric was ready for a drink. He rarely went out on weekdays, but he knew who’d be willing to join him. He made his way to Magical Law Enforcement, fighting against the crowds that headed toward the lifts.

“Hey, handsome,” he greeted Scott, who was still huddled over his desk although most of his department had already left. “What are you up to?”

“You really want me to answer that?” said Scott without looking up. Cedric heard the exhaustion in his voice. “I’ve been working nonstop since last night. There was some sort of fight or attack, and we don’t know who, and we don’t know why, and basically all we _do_ know is that a lot of spells were fired off in an abandoned building, which woke up the Muggle neighbors. Damned Report, I swear.” He finished filling out a piece of parchment with an angry scrawl, then threw his quill onto his desk before meeting Cedric’s gaze. “What it really boils down to is time to hit up the pub. You in?”

Sometimes Scott’s mind-reading abilities were eerie. “I thought you’d never ask.”

***

They chose one of Scott’s more frequented locations, an unpretentious pub down a side street of Diagon Alley that catered to a lot of the younger Ministry workers. Since they had arrived straight from work, they were early enough to grab one of the private booths hidden behind saloon-style doors that lined one wall. They wasted no time in ordering drinks. The witch who took their orders was cute, with tailored robes that showed off a curvy waist, and a wide mouth that seemed permanently set to smile.

“You want me to set you up?” Scott asked as soon as she disappeared.

“With who?”

“Kathleen. The waitress. I can tell she likes you.”

That was Scott’s tactful way of letting Cedric know he’d been caught staring. Cedric took a sip of his beer and gave Scott a look that told him he already knew the answer.

Scott lifted his hands. “Fine, I won’t say anything. But I don’t think it’s a terrible idea.” He lifted his glass to his mouth, but before drinking asked, “How’s Hermione doing?”

Cedric shrugged, ignoring the transition from his love life to Hermione. “She’s doing okay, considering. You haven’t—”

Scott shook his head before Cedric could finish the sentence. “Nothing. At this point we’ve all but stopped looking.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shite, I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s talk about something else. How’s the press conference?”

Cedric snorted. He couldn’t imagine a worse subject to transition to. “At a stand still. Next topic, please.”

Scott seemed surprised at this. “Isn’t it next week?”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

“But…weren’t you with Hermione last night? I thought that was what you were working on.”

Cedric understood where Scott’s surprise was coming from. Last week his sole concern had been _The Battle of Hogwarts Report_ and the conference, but so much had happened since then that his energy had been almost completely diverted. He’d be making a big important speech soon, and yet at the moment he just didn’t care.

The real question was whether to tell Scott about his evening with Harry Potter—and the fact that he was debating the question at all made him angry. Since when did he feel the need to cover up his whereabouts, especially to Scott? Then again, helping someone he barely knew to baby-sit did sound a little strange. He settled on an abridged version of the truth. “I was with Potter last night, actually.”

“Oh,” said Scott, looking more baffled than before. “I didn’t know you were mates.”

Cedric didn’t really know either. “Sort of. He’s good company when he wants to be,” he added, unsure whether he was defending Harry or his own association with him.

Scott stared at him, mindlessly spinning his glass on the tabletop. There still seemed to be something he wanted to figure out, and Cedric tried to avoid tapping his fingers in agitation while under his scrutiny. “So what were you doing together?” Scott asked.

“Just talking.”

“What about?”

Cedric shrugged. “Don’t remember. Nothing important.”

Scott placed both palms on the table and narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit,” he declared. “Come on, Ced. Something’s bothering you, and apparently it’s not the conference. What happened?”

Cedric needed to stop hanging out with Aurors. They got scary when they went into interrogation mode. “It was nothing. Really.”

Cedric finished his drink slowly, but Scott kept staring at him, and wasn’t going to let it go. Once again, Cedric was faced with an ethical question, because the thing that was bothering him wasn’t up for discussion. Harry had asked for confidentiality. But did Scott count? There was no one Cedric trusted more with a secret. Besides, he had already betrayed Scott’s trust for Harry, so this was sort of a way of making things even.

He knew he was justifying his decision, but that in itself was probably a sign that he needed to get it off his chest.

“Did you know that Harry’s gay?” he finally asked with a lowered voice.

“Yeah, what about it?” Scott answered before something seemed to dawn on him. “Wait, _that’s_ what’s bothering you? Merlin, Ced, I knew you were a prude, but I never pegged you for a homophobe.”

Cedric was appalled by Scott’s complete misinterpretation of the question. He counted off the corrections on his fingers. “Okay, first of all, I am not a prude. And second, it doesn’t _bother_ me—I’m not a homophobe either, thank you very much. Third—” and this was the most confounding part—“you already knew?”

“Sure,” said Scott, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. So much for confidentiality. “It’s sort of a known secret among the Aurors. Let’s see, there was that bloke about a year back. Name was something boring, like Jim? John? Anyway, I remember he played Quidditch. And before that, it was the Muggle with the shaggy hair.”

Cedric searched his memory for faces that matched Scott’s descriptions, as vague as they were. The Quidditch player meant Harry probably liked them lean and athletic. He pictured the Muggle with rugged good looks, someone who was more interested in shagging than asking questions. His brain started filling in far too many details, and Cedric forced his attention back to Scott, who was giving him a wry smile. “When you work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it’s virtually impossible to hide anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Cedric. With all the Aurors he spent time with, it probably applied to him as well.

“So how did you find out?” asked Scott.

Cedric shrugged. “Harry mentioned it.”

The expression of disbelief that Cedric had failed to provoke earlier was suddenly plastered all over Scott’s face. He looked at Cedric as though he’d grown a third arm. “He _told_ you? You mean, he actually came out and said it?”

“Well, yeah,” said Cedric. And that’s the part that bothered him: not what Harry told him, but why. Why did Harry decide to share something so intimate with someone he barely knew? Especially if, by Scott’s implication, the occurrence was even less common than he had suspected. “Is that unusual?”

Scott blinked at him, and then began to laugh. “For you mate? Not at all. I swear, you could probably get the giant squid to tell you his dark secrets if you just smiled at him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cedric asked. Of all the different ways he’d interpreted last night’s conversation, he liked Scott’s version least of all. Harry hadn’t confided in him simply because of his looks; Cedric felt certain there was more to it than that.

Scott, however, lost the chance to respond. The booth doors swung open, and a witch that looked vaguely familiar came in and sat down next to him.

“You started without me?” she asked, eyeing the two empty glasses on the table.

Scott placed an arm around her waist. “Nope. We’ve barely begun.”

Cedric didn’t need an introduction to know what would happen next. The woman smiled and leaned in, and soon she and Scott were making out full force, right there in front of Cedric, without so much as acknowledging his presence. This was pretty typical for Scott. His philosophy was that if anyone had a problem with it, they should go find their own person to snog. Cedric politely studied the table while he waited for them to finish, tracing his finger along the surface’s nicks and scratches, coaxing condensation into the grooves. After a minute, during which Cedric considered conjuring a crowbar, they finally pulled away.

Scott gestured to each of them in turn, as though Cedric couldn’t guess who she was. “Cedric, this is Alison. Alison, Cedric.”

“It’s good to meet you,” said Cedric, offering his hand across the table. “So I see you know my friend Scott?”

Alison had a light, relaxed laugh. “Yes, I think we’ve met.” She turned to Scott and asked, “Didn’t I see you at Jen Pesta’s party the other week?”

“Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else,” he said before planting another kiss on her.

The waitress, Kathleen, walked in on the middle of the kiss to take more drink orders. Since Scott and Alison were doing a good job of distracting each other, Cedric returned Kathleen’s smile with one of his own, and engaged her in some small talk before she could slip away. It was probably a reaction to feeling left out, but he had to admit he enjoyed the flirting.

As soon as Kathleen was out of hearing, Alison turned to him and said, “You should totally go for it.”

Cedric leaned back in his seat and groaned. He’d been hoping the flirtation would go unnoticed. “I can see that you two are perfect together. Now I get to look forward to twice the harassment.”

“What are mates for?” Scott asked with a smirk. “You know, I think I might have mentioned it, but Alison here has a friend you might like who’s single.”

Cedric glared at him, but Alison nodded, clearly a willing coconspirator. “She’s _so_ sweet. And she’s really hot, too. I bet you two would hit it off.”

Cedric doubted that. He had never once ‘hit it off’ on a blind date, and he hated his friends’ meddling as a general rule. He silently reminded Scott of these facts with a pointed look, but Scott just gestured to Alison as though he had no say in the matter. In the end, she wouldn’t let the subject drop until he’d at least promised to consider. “Fine, maybe. But that’s not a guarantee.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Alison with an innocent smile.

***

It was much later in the evening before Cedric returned to his apartment, sober enough to Apparate but with just enough of a buzz to settle his earlier anxiety. All in all it had been a great time, just what he had needed to get his mind off of useless concerns. He walked up the two flights to his flat without thinking of Harry at all—that is, until they ran into each other on the second flight going in opposites directions.

“Oh, hi,” said Harry, attempting to sound casual and doing a poor job. It was clear he was embarrassed as hell at being in Cedric’s building, and being caught in retreat; his ears were already going red. “Sorry for inviting myself over. I was just seeing if you were home, but you weren’t—er, obviously. I probably shouldn’t bother you so late without warning you first anyway, so…I’ll just get going.”

Cedric waved off his excuses. The pub had put him in a good mood, which was probably why he was suddenly really glad to see Harry. His sour thoughts from earlier that day were completely forgotten at the sight of Harry standing on his stairs, especially looking so adorably awkward and harmless with his perpetually mussed hair and bright, apologetic eyes. If anything, Cedric should have been the one apologizing, but then he’d have to explain what for.

Instead he said, “It’s not too late at all. Come inside, and I’ll get you a drink.”

Harry trailed behind as Cedric walked back up to his flat, thinking what a nice thing it could be to have unexpected company, especially at a time like this. He was still feeling social and not the least ready to call it a night. It wasn’t until Cedric lowered the wards that he thought about the last time he’d cleaned. “Er, the place is a bit of a mess,” he said over his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind.”

That made Harry grin. “You don’t exactly strike me as the sort to make a mess.”

Harry was right to an extent; Cedric never let his home get too bad, and even now it looked more lived-in than untidy. But Cedric really wanted to make a good impression, and the little things scattered where they weren’t supposed to be would soon drive him mad. He insisted that Harry have a seat on the sofa, but he himself had too much energy to sit still, and he began pacing the room, straightening things up as he talked.

“So what brings you out here?” he asked, picking a book off the table and returning it to the shelf where it belonged. Cedric felt Harry following his movement with his eyes.

“I wanted to discuss something with you,” he said. “You know, you don’t have to clean up for my sake.”

Cedric shook an empty glass at him and smiled. “Nonsense. Have to live up to my spotless reputation, yeah? Want anything to drink?” he asked on his way to the kitchen sink.

“No, I’m fine,” he heard Harry answer.

“Well, what did you want to talk about?” asked Cedric, already formulating his own ideas. Maybe Harry had come to retract his earlier statements – but that couldn’t be right. If Cedric was one of the few people Harry trusted, then maybe he had come to him for advice, something he couldn’t ask of his other friends. Cedric hoped it was that. He had gone back to feeling supportive, and he was ready to offer Harry whatever he needed.

“I just came from that airport.”

Cedric stepped out into the living room, slowly processing that statement. He felt like a dolt; of course this was about Ron. He should have seen that coming, yet he couldn’t help his disappointment. He forced his sluggish mind to dredge up the facts of the case. “You mean the one…”

“Yeah. I asked around, and I’m positive Ron couldn’t have flown out of there. His name wasn’t in their computers, and I didn’t see anything suspicious around the time he would have left. So I think we can rule out Muggle planes entirely.” Harry spoke quickly, animated with excitement. Now that Cedric was paying attention, he saw that Harry was sitting up straighter, as though a weight had literally been lifted from his shoulders. He had that focused yet distracted look Cedric had seen on Scott. This, then, was Auror Potter at work.

Although Cedric’s reasoning wasn’t quite at full capacity, something about Harry’s statement wasn’t right. “What do you mean, ‘asked around’? Who did you ask?”

Harry shrugged, either not seeing the importance of the question or ignoring it. “The people who worked there. Who else?”

“And they just _told_ you what you needed to know? No questions asked?” From what Cedric knew about Muggles, they had protocol for everything. Airports in particular were infamous for their non-magical security innovations. Harry Potter, on the other hand, was infamous for bending the rules, and Cedric could only imagine the measures he’d be willing to take for his friend.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, but he kept the body language of someone at ease. “I might have used a Confundus Charm here and there. It just led them to think I was police, which I _am_ , so no harm done.”

Cedric walked closer to the sofa, his arms crossed. Harry had been there mere minutes, and already he was trying Cedric’s sense of morality. “You can’t just perform random spells on Muggles whenever you feel like it. Not only is that illegal, it’s incredibly unethical.”

“Don’t give me an ethics lesson,” Harry warned. “Sometimes you need to do what it takes, and like I said, no one was hurt. What, are you going to report me or something?”

Now Harry was angry. Worse than angry, he almost seemed disappointed in Cedric. But how else did he expect him to react? Maybe if Cedric’s head were a bit clearer, he’d be able to navigate this conversation with less conflict. He’d forgotten how complicated everything was with Harry.

Cedric sighed and walked across the room to return his broom, propped up in the corner, to its place in the cupboard. It took him a few tries to find the right hook. “Of course I’m not going to report you,” he said. “I just don’t know why you’re telling me this in the first place. Why not go to Hermione first?”

When Harry didn’t answer right away, Cedric turned around to see that Harry was smiling about something. The smile made him instantly charming again; Cedric couldn’t stay annoyed with him when he was grinning as though they shared an inside joke. “Because Hermione would just yell at me for being unethical,” he explained.

Cedric let out a small laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Who cares what Cedric thinks, right?”

“It’s not that,” said Harry. “Hermione doesn’t want to consider all the possibilities. At least I can trust you to be objective.”

There was that word: trust. Harry trusted him for some reason he didn’t quite understand, but that trust was why Cedric was willing to put up with him. It felt good to be trusted by someone so usually reserved. Unfortunately Cedric didn’t deserve it; less than a day had passed before he had shared Harry’s secret, and he felt guiltier about it now with Harry in front of him than he had at the time. He would have to find a way to make it up to him somehow.

“Here’s the thing with Ron,” said Harry. He paused, as though unsure of what to say next.

Cedric waited.

“He and I…,” Harry started. Another pause. “Okay. You remember at the Battle of Hogwarts—”

“No,” said Cedric. He hadn’t meant to interrupt Harry like that, but the confession had been weighing on him for days. His answer to Harry’s rhetorical question had been more or less involuntary. But it was out now. This was his opportunity to repay honesty with honesty. Better to get it over with.

He crossed the room and sat next to Harry on the sofa; Harry looked at him with forehead wrinkled.

“There’s something I need to tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. You might…well, I hope you don’t think less of me.” Dammit. He didn’t expect it to be this hard to say. He looked down at his hands. They weren’t trembling exactly, but they felt a little weak, like the blood was coursing through them too fast. His head was swimming with the combination of adrenaline and beer. It occurred to him that he had never confessed this to anyone out loud before. Most people already knew; the Ministry rumor mill had taken care of that. Leave it to Harry to be the only one out of the loop.

Cedric took a deep breath. He was no coward, despite what Harry might soon think, and he was perfectly capable of saying what he needed to say. “I wasn’t at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

He glanced briefly at Harry, who was still staring, still looking perplexed. He was probably waiting for Cedric to explain, so he launched into it without much thought. “I wasn’t in the Order of the Phoenix, and I wasn’t an Auror. I didn’t even know the battle was happening; no one thought to tell me. By the time I heard anything about it, one of my friends was already in St. Mungo’s, and the other was dead.” He heard himself getting defensive, but he couldn’t help it. He could only imagine what Harry was thinking.

“Not everyone who fought was in the Order of the Phoenix or an Auror,” said Harry. His voice was cool, guarded. It was almost worse than outright disgust.

Without turning his head, Cedric once again met Harry’s glance and held it. If this was another challenge, he wasn’t about to back down. “I wasn’t in Dumbledore’s Army, either,” he said, a little bitter. “You never wanted me there, anyway.”

Now Harry furrowed his brow, moving past his detachment and showing signs of irritation. “Don’t go blaming me. You didn’t want anything to do with us that year. You were probably too damn worried about breaking the rules, yeah?”

“Well, maybe I was right,” Cedric countered, losing track of the direction of the argument. “Look what happened as a result! Your little club got Dumbledore kicked out of Hogwarts, and we all know what happened then.”

There was nothing guarded about Harry’s expression anymore. His anger was perfectly clear, but still he kept his voice level. “That wasn’t my fault. I took a risk. Sometimes you need to take risks, Diggory. You can’t just sit back and wait for things to change around you.”

Harry’s nerve was infuriating, and his use of ‘Diggory’ hurt. More than it should have. Cedric had been completely supportive of Harry last night, and this was how Harry treated him in return? He spoke as though Cedric had done nothing during the war. As though he had been too afraid of breaking the rules to fight back in secret while the Death Eaters were in power. As though, even now, he weren’t trying to make the wizarding world a safer place while Harry ran around playing his little detective games.

“Listen, Potter, I smuggled information from inside the Ministry during the war. I’ve passed more international legislation than any wizard my age.” And now he was boasting. He never boasted. But he could feel Harry’s approval slipping away, and he was grasping to get it back.

“That’s not what I mean by risk,” said Harry. “And if you were already passing information, then why didn’t you join the Order?”

Cedric didn’t have an adequate answer. He couldn’t think clearly enough to explain, and he didn’t want to think about the war anyway, the experience of being trapped, impotent, behind enemy lines. The only thing he could focus on right now was Harry. He had leaned in so close that he could smell him. It was the smell of adventure, of something just out of reach. He needed Harry to understand his decisions. He needed Harry’s respect, whatever the cost.

“I take risks,” said Cedric, the only thing he could think to say. To prove his point, he took the biggest risk available to him at that moment. He placed a hand on either side of Harry’s head and kissed him.

For a split second, it all seemed completely logical. Harry wouldn’t mind because he was gay, and Cedric was only making a point: that he wasn’t afraid of breaking the rules, or homosexuality, or any of the things Harry stood for. His intention was simply to give Harry a quick snog, pull away, and then revel in Harry’s shock.

What he never anticipated was Harry kissing him back.

There seemed to be no transition at all between Cedric placing his lips on Harry’s, and Harry responding with alarming enthusiasm. Before Cedric knew what was happening, his mouth was open, and he was breathing Harry’s fiery breath, tasting the inside of his mouth. Harry kissed the same way he lived. He was passionate, confident, prepared to match anything Cedric could throw at him. It was dizzying to be on the receiving end of such focused attention, and Cedric was so blindsided that he allowed it.

Since Cedric had released his hold on Harry’s face out of shock, Harry took charge of bringing their bodies closer together. He splayed his hands across Cedric’s back and kept him in place as he scooted forward, their mouths never disconnecting. Soon they were connected in other places as well: their chests, their arms. Everywhere they touched, Cedric felt some of Harry’s boundless energy coursing through him. Sitting side by side on the sofa as they were, however, left both of their bodies awkwardly twisted. Harry solved this problem by lifting a leg, doing a half turn, and straddling Cedric’s lap.

Now Cedric was being pressed into the back of the sofa, with Harry’s tongue in his mouth, and Harry’s hands at his wrists, pinning them to either side of his head. How could Cedric have ever thought of Harry as small? It was like he was seeing him, all of him, for the first time, even though his eyes were closed. The full weight of Harry’s soul seemed to be pressing down on him.

Then Harry took it a step further. He released one of Cedric’s wrists, and moved his free hand to Cedric’s growing erection, giving it a light squeeze through the fabric of his robes. Cedric gasped with pleasure, but the shock of it broke through his daze. He was thinking clearly again, and he wasn’t sure what the fuck was happening.

He had to lean far back into the sofa to disengage his mouth. “Wait. What are you doing?”

Harry slowed his advances until he was sitting completely still, blinking through smudged, skewed glasses that no one had thought to remove. With their proximity, Cedric was able to watch the lust clear from Harry’s eyes. In its place grew a darkening cloud of horror.

“Oh fuck,” said Harry softly, scrambling to get off of Cedric’s lap, his seductive grace completely gone. He stood in front of him, slowly backing away and avoiding eye contact. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Fuck! I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Harry, it’s fine,” said Cedric. Was it fine? He didn’t know, but he didn’t like seeing Harry so alarmed. He wanted to stand, to comfort him somehow, but he couldn’t. He was frozen to where he sat. His thoughts were a mess he couldn’t untangle.

Harry turned and hastened to the front door. There he paused to wipe his glasses on his robes. From that distance, Cedric could see he had undergone another transformation. Now he wasn’t an Auror, or a godfather, or a colleague. He looked just like the scared kid he’d been in Cedric’s sixth year.

“I’ll let myself out,” he said, his eyes on the door, not on Cedric. Cedric tried to speak, but no words came out. What could he possibly say? It was a nice snog? Why don’t you stay for tea? He rubbed a hand over his face, and his fingers stopped on his lips. They felt swollen. Oh Merlin. He actually snogged a bloke. He didn’t know what that meant, but he did know that Harry really needed to get out of his flat. _Now_. He needed space, he needed to sort this through.

Harry opened the door, but lingered with his hand on the knob. Finally, he turned to look Cedric in the eye. Cedric’s hand dropped to his side, but he didn’t look away. For a brief moment, he half expected Harry to say something teasing, or infuriating, or completely unexpected like he usually did. But Harry just looked back down at the floor. “We, er, don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want.”

He closed the door softly behind him, and just like that, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Cedric was done with brooding. He’d agonized for long enough after Harry’s departure, first from the couch, then over the kitchen sink, then within the protection of his sheets. He’d retraced the night’s events until he had worn them down and could no longer be certain of their original shape. He’d even tasted the word “gay” on his tongue, holding it under his chin like a nametag to see if it fit.

But when he awoke the next morning, he had a clear perspective. He’d snogged Harry Potter: so what? It didn’t mean anything.

At work, Cedric sat at his desk with the details of a trade dispute before him and examined the circumstances. First off, he’d been drunk. Not so drunk that he didn’t know what he was doing, but still, his judgment was clearly impaired. It was no wonder he’d acted on curiosity with the opportunity right in front of him. Most boys experimented with homosexuality in their youth, right? Well, now Cedric had it out of his system as well. There was nothing unusual about last night’s events, nor did they negate a lifetime of being attracted to women.

Loneliness probably played a bigger role than sexuality, in any case. He’d not had a girlfriend in some time, and after hours of the Scott and Alison show, who wouldn’t seek out affection?

Cedric flipped through his papers and sighed. Maybe Scott was right. If he’d regressed to snogging anyone regardless of gender, maybe that was a sign that it was time to go back on the pull.

“Why don’t you get some lunch?” asked his coworker, Paul Besler, from the other side of the office. Cedric blinked up at him, then back down at his papers. He realized he’d been staring at them without reading a thing for the past ten minutes.

He pushed himself up from his seat. “I guess I should. Sorry I’ve been so distracted lately, with the press conference and all.”

Besler didn’t even bother looking up from his quill. “You don’t work for me, Cedric. Your distractions aren’t my concern.”

Cedric rolled his eyes, though Besler wasn’t watching. There was a time when his callousness used to bother him, back when Cedric had been freshly promoted. He couldn’t seem to gain his respect no matter how much work he put into the job. Now Cedric understood that Besler was merely bitter about his youth, and the idea that someone twenty years his junior would soon outrank him. This didn’t discourage Cedric; on the contrary, it made him even more determined to prove himself. It also made him wish his excuse hadn’t been a lie. The press conference _should_ be the first thing on his mind, and not some romantic gaff.

“Right,” he said, rolling his shoulders to release a cramp. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

The cafeteria looked as it always did, bustling with Ministry workers of every age and rank. Cedric ordered his meal, then scanned the tables for an available seat. There were spaces next to a few members he knew from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, but they were having a boisterous argument about an upcoming Quidditch match that Cedric didn’t plan on watching, and they’d probably give him hell for that. Sometimes working in the Ministry made Cedric feel like he’d never left school. It was still all about popularity and cliques.

He was about to return to his office despite Besler’s sour mood, when he noticed the familiar faces in the far corner of the room. There were Harry and Hermione huddled together in conversation. Cedric experienced a jolt of panic and nearly dropped his tray. Harry rarely ate in the cafeteria. Why today of all days? Now he really wanted to leave, to avoid Harry altogether, but Hermione caught sight of him before he could escape. She smiled brightly and waved. When Harry saw this, he turned to see whom she was greeting, and his eyes locked on Cedric’s. Cedric’s heart jumped in his chest, but he made sure not to react outwardly. He wasn’t a coward, and he wasn’t going to be ashamed of last night. He took a deep breath, and made his way toward the table.

“Cedric, I’m glad you’re here,” said Hermione, oblivious, as she scooted to make room for him. Cedric took the offered seat and set his tray across from Harry’s, bestowing a smile that wasn’t returned because Harry didn’t see it. He was too focused on the table directly in front of him.

If Harry was going to act like a child, Cedric would direct his answers to Hermione alone. “Besler kicked me out of the office for being preoccupied. As if he cares. But don’t get me started on him; what were you discussing?” He dipped into his soup and brought the steaming spoon to his mouth.

“Ron,” said Harry. A one-word answer – which told Cedric all he needed to know about where they stood. Harry was reverting back to their earlier interactions, cold and unreadable, though with less assurance and less eye contact. Cedric studied his face while Harry studied his leftovers. It stung to see him so shuttered after he’d been so open over the past few days. Not that Cedric wanted a repeat of last night’s openness, but he didn’t want to lose everything that had preceded it.

“We were considering a visit to Diagon Alley,” Hermione was explaining. “There might be someone who saw Ron the morning he went to Gringotts, so we’re going to talk to the shop owners tomorrow after work to see if anyone remembers him. Would you like to come?”

Cedric looked to Harry for his answer. He wanted to go, but not if Harry didn’t want him there. It was amazing how Harry could revoke an invitation with just a look, or in this case, the lack thereof. “No, I’m afraid I’ll be busy then.” He returned his attention to his soup.

Hermione’s face fell, and she looked over at Harry, as though first realizing that something was off about their interaction. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could.” More than he had a right to.

“That’s fine – it’ll be just the two of us, then. I’ll let you know if we find anything, of course.” She sounded confused, and when it to came to Hermione, confusion was always paired with determined curiosity. Cedric felt himself under her scrutiny. What was more suspicious: engaging Harry, or ignoring him? There was a bit of awkward silence that was broken when Hermione pushed away from the table and gathered what remained of her lunch into a paper bag. “I’m going to throw this away. I’ll be right back.”

Was this a ploy to leave the two of them alone and force them to interact? If so, Cedric had no problem taking advantage of it. He placed his spoon on the tray.

“We should talk,” he said.

Harry finally looked up, but his eyes were so guarded it hardly felt personal. “I told you we don’t have to.”

“I know that. I want to.” Somehow, Harry’s reluctance gave Cedric strength. It made him feel courageous by comparison.

Harry crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. His body language spoke more than his expression or tone of voice, which was useful, since Cedric needed _something_ to work with. “I already apologized. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” said Cedric. “I was the one who started it, remember?”

Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice so that Cedric could barely hear him. “You were drunk,” he said. “I could taste it on you. I should have stopped it right then.”

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk,” Cedric countered, though he wasn’t sure why. Just that morning he’d convinced himself of how much of a role alcohol had played. But he didn’t want Harry to think he’d been taken advantage of. Cedric was a consenting adult, willing to take responsibility for his own mistakes. “I knew what I was doing. I was trying to make a point.” Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I…can’t remember what the point was, but I’m sure it was an important one.”

Was it Cedric’s imagination, or did the corner of Harry’s mouth quirk up? “You mean the point wasn’t shagging someone famous so you could brag to your friends?”

The delivery was so dry that it took Cedric a moment to realize that Harry was joking. With relief, he smiled wide and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m not a bad catch myself. Can’t blame you for getting carried away.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. You may be fit, Diggory, but you’re not my type. I don’t go for straight blokes.”

If humor was how they’d get past the awkwardness, that was fine with Cedric. Besides, he enjoyed it, the meaningless flirtation, being called fit even if it came from another man. Now that things were out in the open, the teasing felt safe from consequence. Cedric leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “That’s just fine, because I don’t go for celebrities. Too much work.”

“Is that right?” Harry tilted his head forward so that Cedric could see the green of his eyes over the rim of his glasses. Those eyes flashed warmth, and Cedric was uncomfortable with the memory of the last time he’d seen them up close. “Too much work, or too intimidating?”

Definitely the latter. He surprised himself when the answer popped into his head, but it was true; Harry Potter was intimidating, and not because of his fame. It was in his piercing stare, which seemed to perceive so much while revealing so little. It was in the way he could broadcast disapproval with just a look. It was the complete assurance with which he’d captured Cedric’s mouth—

“Am I interrupting?” asked Hermione.

The two of them sat up straight, which only drew attention to how close their faces had been. It was a strangely guilty reaction. Cedric didn’t know why he felt like a schoolboy who’d been caught at something, but instinct told him it was time to change the subject.

“I was talking to Harry about the conference,” he lied for the second time that day.

Harry looked at him, and Cedric couldn’t tell if he approved, but to Cedric’s relief he went with it. “And I was just saying what I knew about it from you. This is the bill to protect Death Eaters, yeah?”

“Not Death Eaters,” Cedric corrected. Hermione squeezed past him and shot him a warning glare as she sat back down. Cedric got the message, but he didn’t care. Hermione was no longer the mediator between them, and she didn’t get to decide what they discussed. “It protects those perceived as being connected to Death Eaters, especially relatives. A lot of people are being discriminated against because of their family name.”

Harry hummed in a noncommittal way.

“Not just them,” Hermione added. “It also prevents discrimination against magical creatures, Muggles and Muggle-borns, squibs…you get the idea.”

Harry considered it. “And you really think a law’s going to change how people feel?”

“It’s a start,” Cedric replied. Not that he knew much about changing someone’s feelings. He and Harry were making a good show of moving on from last night, but was it genuine? Was the frown that flashed across Harry’s face a reaction to the subject at hand, or things that went unsaid? “The bill would prevent any return to institutionalized discrimination. And even if we can’t change people’s attitudes, at least those who commit crimes based on prejudice would be held responsible for their actions.”

“They’re already held responsible. That’s my job.” Cedric sensed the pride in this statement, and a hint of challenge.

“The current laws aren’t enough. They only punish violent crimes, but there are those who’ve been denied jobs and housing, and other rights. That’s why we need this bill.” He gestured around the cafeteria to represent what they were up against. “Unfortunately, the Wizengamot won’t even discuss it. They’re afraid it’ll stir up too much resentment. So it’s all going to depend on public opinion.”

“And that’s why you’ve been setting up a press conference,” Harry surmised.

Under the table, Hermione lightly touched Cedric’s arm. It was a warning for Cedric to back off, to not ask the inevitable question, but she had no idea how much had changed in the past week. Whatever their relationship had become, they were far from casual acquaintances. It was within Cedric’s right to ask for this one favor.

“If the press conference goes well enough, and there’s enough public support, the Wizengamot will have no choice but to pass the bill. You know…” Cedric paused, as though the thought were just occurring. He didn’t want to seem calculating, even if that were the case. “It would be an enormous help if you said a few words, just to show your support.”

Although he’d expected some resistance, the way Harry’s expression darkened didn’t bode well. He leaned back in his seat and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t do politics.”

The objection was as surprising as it was succinct. “But it’s not politics,” Cedric explained. “I thought you might be interested in the cause.”

“Being interested is one thing. You’re asking me to get involved.” Harry shrugged. “I’m sorry, Cedric. I don’t do that.”

Cedric held back the impulse to ask why, knowing he wouldn’t get an adequate answer. Instead he said, “I’ll let you think about it. There’s still plenty of time to decide.”

Harry snorted. “I’ve already decided.”

“I’m just saying, if you change your mind…”

Harry shrugged once more, and didn’t say anything. Cedric could think of no response to something so irrational. He didn’t “do” politics? What did that even mean? _Life_ was politics, and Harry should know that better than anyone. In fact, Cedric wasn’t sure what he found more irritating; Harry’s refusal, or the complete lack of explanation for it.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Our hour’s up; Harry and I should be getting back. I’ll let you know if we find anything tomorrow.” She and Harry gathered their things, and the last look she gave Cedric before they exited the cafeteria was an unmistakable, apologetic, “I told you so.”

Bollocks. That had gone terribly. And it had left Cedric seething with frustration. Harry cared about what happened in the world, Cedric knew that, and yet he found it so easy to absolve himself of responsibility. A few words; that’s all it would take. What was so political about saying a few words and helping thousands of people? After what he did to Cedric last night—

He immediately clamped down on that thought. It wasn’t fair to blame Harry for what had happened. Nor was it fair to force him into something he didn’t want to do. Harry was just a stubborn sod, and Cedric shouldn’t be taking it so damn personally.

He ate the rest of his soup in silence, resolving to spend the rest of the afternoon actually focusing on his work. With so much happening, he couldn’t afford distractions, and Harry was becoming a bigger one every day. What he needed to do was forget about him and come up with another way to draw support.

This is what he was thinking about as he got on the lift to return to his office. “Hold that!” cried a familiar voice as the doors began closing.

Cedric stuck his foot in the door, and Scott squeezed himself into the otherwise empty compartment.

“I’m going up, you know,” Cedric pointed out, knowing that Law Enforcement was below them. Scott waved away the observation and nudged Cedric’s arm.

“I’m taking the scenic route.”

“You flatter me,” said Cedric, smirking.

“I’m trying. I want to be on your good side for this.”

Bloody hell. Cedric wasn’t exactly in the mood for granting favors. He rolled his eyes and said, “Here it comes. What do you want?”

The lift rattled to a halt, and an elderly witch stepped inside, prompting Scott to lower his voice. “Sorry mate, but Alison made me _promise_ I’d ask you. I told her you’d refuse, but she wouldn’t listen. So feel free to tell me to bugger off.”

Something in Scott’s apology rang too familiar. It was the echo of Hermione insisting that Harry would refuse, that there was no point in asking or arguing. Cedric would not believe he was in any way as stubborn as Harry, and he instantly dropped the confrontational edge. “Refuse what?” he asked, though he had a fairly good idea of what was coming.

Scott tried to appear nonchalant, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “You remember the friend she mentioned, Natasha? Well it seems she has an extra ticket to the Witch One concert tomorrow night.”

Was it his imagination, or did the woman in front of them turn her head slightly? Cedric looked at the ceiling of the lift, and then at the doors. Scott was waiting for the predicted answer, but Cedric didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He didn’t want Harry’s reputation. And more than that, he didn’t want a repeat of last night’s desperation. The memory of Harry’s lips and the heat of his skin were still fresh, too fresh, in Cedric’s thoughts. He wanted to scrub them away, drown them out with something new. Despite his reservations, the timing was too fortuitous to dismiss.

“Sure, I’d love to go,” he said, not looking at his friend. He didn’t need to witness the look of shock, undoubtedly followed by a suggestively raised eyebrow.

There was a slight pause before Scott, still trying to sound casual, said, “Brilliant. I’ll let Alison know, and then send you the details.” He brought the lift to a halt, and got off on the next floor. On his way out, he turned and regarded Cedric. “You’re sure, mate?”

Cedric huffed in irritation. He didn’t have a very good feeling about tomorrow night, but he wasn’t backing out. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll talk to you later.”

The doors closed, and the lift once again rattled to life. Cedric was left with the old woman and his thoughts, fluctuating between cautious hope and an ever-increasing list of things that would go wrong. In either case, he’d be spending an entire evening with this stranger, and he was determined to make the most of it.

He finally reached his floor, and excused himself as he brushed past the old woman.

“Good luck tomorrow, dearie!” she called after him.

***

There was one point Cedric had no problem conceding to Alison, even before the date was fully underway: Natasha was hot. There was no denying that.

They had met up at the concert venue, and Cedric had no difficulty spotting her in the crowd. Natasha wore a bright yellow dress that didn’t so much hug her curves as caress them. She waved at him and Cedric came closer, taking in her flawless, dark skin, wide set eyes, and smiling mouth painted pink and wet. She had the look of a model, but with a healthier body. When she stood, she also had a model’s height.

The first thing Natasha did when they were close enough was to throw her arms around him in a light hug. Cedric was taken by surprise, though it wasn’t unwelcome. Was this standard behavior on a date? It had been too long; he didn’t know any of the etiquette.

“Thanks for coming!” she said. “It’s great to meet you, after everything I’ve been hearing from Alison.”

Cedric turned on the charm by instinct. “Well, Alison told me practically nothing about you. I think she wanted me pleasantly surprised.”

They sat down together at the bar in the back of the venue and ordered a round. It was a standing room only show, and neither of them had much interest in being on their feet or competing with the crowds. Cedric was reeling with nerves, but public speaking had made him an expert at feigning confidence, and he knew he was maintaining a cool façade. There was nothing in Natasha to betray any anxiety, except perhaps an excess of bubbly energy. She kept tapping one heeled foot against the bar.

“So,” asked Cedric, “What do you do? Alison said you’re at the Ministry, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m sure I would have remembered.”

Natasha grinned at the compliment. “I’m one of the floo board operators. They pretty much lock us away from sight, but we’re like the ears of the Ministry. We hear _everything_ that goes on.”

“Should I be nervous?” asked Cedric.

“Why, do you have something to hide?”

Yes, he did, in fact. Thank goodness the question was nothing more than a playful tease. “I think that’s for you to tell me.”

Natasha laughed, the sound ringing clear through the din. “Actually, I should tell you up front that I do know a little bit about you, Mr. Diggory.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“Like…” She took a sip of her drink, looking coy. “I know you’re trying to pass some law, and you’re making a speech about it next week.”

Cedric nodded. “Are you going to be there?” He wasn’t trying to network on a date, but he also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spread the word.

“Maybe,” she said, drawing it out. “What are you going to be talking about?”

“Discrimination against minorities in the Wizarding community.”

The band came on stage as he said this, and the sentence was lost in the cheer of the audience.

“What?” yelled Natasha.

“Making discrimination illegal,” Cedric repeated.

“Isn’t it already?” she asked. But the opening chords began to play, and any response would have been impossible to hear. Natasha turned her attention to the performers and cheered with the rest of them.

Cedric felt a stab of disappointment at the exchange. He couldn’t help thinking she sounded indifferent to something that mattered so much to him. But if Scott were here, he’d punch Cedric in the arm and tell him he was reading too much into things, or being too judgmental, or both. This was probably why blind dates never worked out for Cedric. He’d find something wrong within the first five minutes, and after that, he’d never take the time to know the person further.

He wanted things to be different with Natasha. Maybe she’d surprise him.

The concert was fun, though Cedric wasn’t current on music, and didn’t know any of the songs. Natasha seemed to know them all by heart. It was adorable the way she’d turn to him and mouth along, as though the lyrics were a special message meant just for him. They were all songs about love and heartache and then love again, and the singer was a charismatic presence, but Cedric only had eyes for his date. In fact, he began to feel better about the whole situation as the evening wore on. Natasha kept nudging his shoulder with her own, and sharing sweet, conspiratorial smiles. She was all warmth and affection, and she drew Cedric in. By the time Witch One came out for an encore, the two of them were holding hands, and Cedric’s nerves had become nervous excitement.

After the show, Natasha mentioned she lived close by, and Cedric offered to walk her home. She gratefully accepted in a way that hinted she’d agree to any other suggestions he might have. It almost felt like reading lines from a script rather than a real conversation.

They walked slowly, sharing the unimportant details of their lives. Cedric made sure not to mention the bill again. He wanted to focus on what he liked about Natasha, not the topics that he was convinced would leave him cold. He liked her smile, her good humor, and of course he liked her physically. That was enough to go on, right?

“You know,” said Natasha as they came closer to her flat, her arm hooked in Cedric’s elbow, “I was a little surprised when I found out you were single. I always thought you had a thing for Granger.”

“Nope. No thing,” Cedric assured her. “Hermione and I are very close friends, and happy to remain so.”

“I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Ron,” she continued. “He’s such a nice guy; I hope he’s okay.”

News of the disappearance had not yet been made official, but word was spreading fast, and it would soon be all over the papers. It didn’t surprise Cedric that Natasha knew about it, but he was surprised at the familiarity with which she spoke of him. “Do you know Ron?” he asked.

Natasha looked a little sheepish, and laughed. “Sort of. Although he doesn’t know me. With all the things we hear at the floo board, it’s easy to forget the relationships are one-sided. Sometimes I’ll say hi to someone in the halls, and they’ll have no idea who the hell I am.” She laughed again, and rested her head on Cedric’s shoulder. He matched her pace so they could stay in that position comfortably. “Now Ron – Ron was the sweetest. He’d fire call his girlfriend almost every day. You could tell he really loved her.”

The image didn’t match up with Cedric’s idea of their relationship. By the time he had gotten to know Hermione, she and Ron were already bickering on a regular basis, and it was only a matter of time before they decided to cut their losses. Shortly after the war, things must have been different. Things had been different for all of them. “He’d fire call Hermione instead of just walking down to her office?” asked Cedric, amused by the thought.

Natasha lifted her head and looked Cedric in the eye. A sly smile formed on her face. “Oh, I’m not talking about Hermione. This is much later. And from what I gathered, they hadn’t told a lot of people they were seeing each other yet.” She sighed, and the smile vanished. “Poor thing must be devastated right now.”

It took a few steps before the importance of this information could sink in. But once it did, Cedric could think of nothing else.

Ron had a girlfriend. A recent girlfriend.

The implications of this fact were staggering. Ron’s unknown destination; the mysterious second person at Gringott’s . All of a sudden, everything seemed to fall into place, and possible explanations burst into life in Cedric’s imagination. Did Hermione and Harry even know about her? They couldn’t possibly, or else they would have mentioned it. This changed _everything_. If they could find this woman, whoever she was, the maybe – hopefully – they could find Ron.

“Do you know who she is?” asked Cedric. His voice was almost trembling from the thrill of discovery, and he prayed the question came off sounding innocent.

“What was it, Elle? Ellie? Oh, here we are!” Natasha pointed to her building, a squat brick structure that Cedric barely registered. He needed to tell Harry and Hermione what he’d learned. This wasn’t information that could wait.

Natasha was looking at Cedric expectantly, waiting for a signal, but Cedric faltered. He didn’t want to drag out the evening when he had important things he needed to do. And that right there revealed his priorities. A beautiful woman stood before him, waiting to be kissed, probably willing to go further, and yet he was more concerned with his two friends and their search. What was wrong with him?

He looked at Natasha’s lips and thought of the last thing he wanted to remember: the focused urgency of two nights ago, the unexpected heat. He didn’t feel it now. When it came down to it, he felt as indifferent toward Natasha as she had acted toward his bill.

He took a step away from her. “I had a great evening,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around at the Ministry.”

He could tell she was trying to hide her disappointment when she said, “Yeah, maybe. At least now you know where to find me.”

They bade each other a platonic goodnight, Natasha walked into her building, and Cedric was left with a decision. Hermione or Harry? Who would he tell first? He wavered for a moment, thinking of all that had happened in the past week. In the end, he Apparated to Hermione’s flat.


	6. Chapter 6

Cedric lifted a hand to Hermione’s door, then paused. Merlin, it had to be late. What time did that concert end? Eleven o’clock? Later? It was probably near midnight by now. But then Cedric remembered why he was there, and he knocked anyway.

He heard muffled noises within the flat, and a minute or two later, Hermione eased open the door.

“Cedric?” she asked, squinting into the dark hallway. She was wearing a light blue robe that she tightened around her waist.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Er, no. No. Won’t you come in?”

She stepped aside, and Cedric strode into the living room. He was still jittery with newly acquired knowledge and leftover nerves from his failed date. He hoped he had made the right decision in leaving Natasha at her doorstep and coming here instead, but there were no immediate regrets. He still felt the urgency of his news, and it far outweighed the urgency of hooking up with someone who wasn’t a part of his life.

Hermione, no doubt attempting to be polite, hid a yawn against her sleeve. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, the gracious host at any hour.

“No, I’m fine. I won’t be long.” He rubbed his arm and finally spied a clock on the mantle: 12:14 AM. “There’s something I just found out and I wanted to tell you right away.”

Her eyes widened. “Is this about Ron?”

Cedric nodded.

Hermione lifted a hand to her mouth, then turned the palm to Cedric to stop him from continuing. “Wait. Let me get Harry before you say anything.”

Cedric was sure he cringed at the request, though he should have seen it coming. He didn’t want to hide information from Harry. He was just hoping he wouldn’t have to share it face to face. Cedric was still sore from their last conversation, and didn’t like the idea of aiding someone who refused to return the favor. Worse than that, Harry was a reminder of the sex he could be having at that very moment. And associating Harry with sex was troubling enough on its own.

Still, he didn’t protest when Hermione took her wand in hand, and concentrated as a silvery—was that an otter?—emerged from the tip. She whispered in its ear before sending it out the window with its message. They were both silent as they waited. Hermione paced the room, avoiding Cedric’s face and any hints it might provide, while Cedric tapped his fingers against the sofa’s worn armrest. He wondered how Hermione would take the news. Ron was her ex, after all, and her close friend besides. Would she be upset to learn what he’d been keeping from her? Did she have her suspicions already? Hermione was a clever witch, and very little escaped her.

“Did you find anything in Diagon Alley?” he asked to break the silence.

Hermione stopped pacing and shook her head. “Not really. Asking if two people who could look like anyone were seen over a week ago didn’t jog any memories.” She looked to the door, and as if on cue, the knob began to turn.

Harry entered without even bothering to knock. He spotted Cedric and walked towards him. “Hermione says you found something. What is it?” he asked. No greeting, not even an awkward acknowledgment. Unlike Hermione, he looked as awake and alert as an Auror on duty.

Cedric looked back and forth between the two of them. They were both bracing themselves in their own way: Hermione with her shoulders forward and arms protectively crossed; Harry with his feet firmly planted and chin raised. Cedric took a deep breath. “I was talking to someone who works the floo boards,” he said. “And she seemed to think that…well, she told me that Ron was seeing someone.” He paused, then added, “A girlfriend.”

The effect was immediate. Hermione’s eyes went wider than before, her mouth hanging open in shock. Harry’s brow furrowed and his entire body went stiff. “Are you sure?” he asked. It was the tone of an Auror verifying information, but also the voice of a concerned friend. Cedric nodded.

Harry looked at Hermione, and his guard seemed to melt away. His posture changed; lines of emotion appeared on his face. It was as though he’d discarded his hard exterior like a cloak, revealing a layer of very real pain. Cedric had been so concerned this whole time about Hermione’s reaction, yet Harry was the one who looked as though he’d been slapped. Cedric’s heart unwillingly went out to him.

Hermione was slow to return Harry’s gaze. When she did, her mouth closed to a thin line and her eyes began to brim. The emotion they held was different from Harry’s, but Cedric couldn’t put his finger on it. That is, not until Harry spoke.

“You _knew_ , didn’t you?”

Hermione’s face crumpled under the accusation. Realization crashed, and Cedric put a name to her emotion: it was guilt. Not shock, not grief, but guilt and apology. Harry was right. But how could Hermione have known this without mentioning it? How did she find out, but not Harry?

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Sorry for what?” he exclaimed. His eyes pressed shut for a moment, as though it were too much to process, but then he fixed Hermione with a stare that burned with anger.  Hermione, to her credit, held her ground.

“Are you sorry that you lied to me,” he asked, “or sorry that Ron could be _dead_ because of you?”

Hermione flinched. “Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t…”

“Why the hell not?”

“You have to understand; it wasn’t for me to tell.”

“Wasn’t for you to tell? Ron wasn’t about to step in and do it for you!” Harry waved his arm toward the door as proof. He was furious, seething, and, frankly, a bit frightening. Cedric made a move to intervene, but Hermione stopped him with a glance.

Not noticing their exchange, Harry took a step forward and asked, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Ron _begged_ me not to!” she shouted. It punctured through their argument, leaving a lull of silence.

Harry shook his head. “Why would he do that?” Compared to the shouting, it sounded like a whisper.

“Why haven’t you told Ron you’re gay?” Hermione shot back. Cedric looked sharply at Harry, but he made no indication that he heard the question. He didn’t even seem aware that Cedric was still in the room. Hermione looked away and said, “He didn’t think you’d understand.”

Harry took another step closer. “I’m his best mate,” he said, emphasizing those last two words as though they explained everything. “What wouldn’t I understand? I mean, was his girlfriend, what…a Death Eater or something?”

“No, not a Death Eater,” she replied. Her voice cracked, and it took a few moments before she could continue with composure. When she spoke her quiet words filled the room. “The daughter of one.”

Harry took a step back. He studied Hermione closely, trying to comprehend her statement, or perhaps checking its veracity. The weight of it seemed to fall on his shoulders all at once. He looked around the room, blinking as though disoriented. Then he moved to the sofa, sitting with a heavy weight and rested his temples against the heels of his hands, both elbows on his thighs. “Fuck,” he said.

Cedric felt rooted to the spot; he couldn’t leave, couldn’t intervene. All he could do was stand there and watch these cryptic events unfold like a play to which he’d arrived late. Why hadn’t Hermione shared any of this before now? Why hadn’t Ron? What kind of friendship could contain so many secrets? And why, Cedric couldn’t help but wonder, did Harry come out to him when he hadn’t even come out to his best friend?

Cedric’s fingers were still on the armrest of the sofa, now mere centimeters from where Harry sat looking small and trampled. Their proximity gave him the sudden urge to reach out and touch Harry’s arm for comfort. But no, that could be construed as all kinds of inappropriate. His hand twitched, then lifted just high enough to drop back to his side. Harry still didn’t seem to notice.

The seconds ticked away before anyone moved. Hermione was gripping the back of a chair, her face still streaked with guilt, but also with the concern that mirrored what Cedric felt. Eventually, Harry lifted his head and asked, “Who is she?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Her name is Eleanor Macnair.”

Cedric sucked in air. He recognized the name, and knew Harry would as well. Macnair was among the first to announce his allegiance when the Death Eaters went public, he’d fought at the Battle of Hogwarts, and he was now serving a life sentence. Cedric didn’t even know he had a daughter.

Harry closed his eyes. “How long?”

“It’s been almost a year.”

Harry looked up again in disbelief. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to think of any words. Cedric didn’t have any to offer, either. But he did manage to work up his courage, and gingerly placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry flinched as though being attacked, whipped his head around, and looked astonished to see Cedric standing next to him. Cedric tried to make his sympathy visible, expecting Harry to ask that he leave, or lash out in someway. What he saw instead made him catch his breath. Harry’s expression relaxed. His lines of worry began to smooth, and the warm shoulder below Cedric’s palm sagged. Harry was looking at him with _gratitude_. The fact that Cedric could calm him with merely a touch and a sympathetic look was a heady experience. He decided to leave his hand where it was.

“Have you talked to this woman recently?” Harry asked, returning to the conversation but sounding a bit less broken.

“I sent her a letter explaining what had happened, but she never responded. Harry—” Hermione came around to the other side of the chair and sat down so she was facing him directly—“I only met her once, but…she’s not like her father. He came from wealth, but she grew up with nothing. And she never subscribed to his bigotry. I—I kept wishing you two could have met. I think you would have liked her.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be getting that wish now,” Harry said. “We need to talk with her immediately.” He stood as though prepared to leave at that very moment, knocking Cedric’s hand away as a result. Cedric tried not to feel disappointed as he stepped back.

“Now? In the middle of the night?” asked Hermione, standing as well.

This seemed to bring Harry back to reality. He looked at the clock on the mantle and sighed. “No. Not tonight. But tomorrow, after work. You know where she lives?”

Hermione nodded, and a shadow passed over Harry’s face. It was one more thing she knew and he didn’t. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and asked, “Will you be there?”

Hermione nodded again, but it wasn’t until Harry looked up at him that Cedric realized he was included in the question.

“Yes,” he said. He didn’t even leave himself a moment to consider. There was no more denying that he had become a part of this mystery. He was invested, for better or for worse.

“After work, then. We’ll meet in the lobby tomorrow at six so Hermione can take us.” Harry rubbed at his eyes and his posture sagged. “I’m going to go get whatever sleep I can.” Without a goodbye, he left.

Cedric watched him go, thinking that he’d been seeing Harry exit a lot of rooms without goodbyes lately. He turned to Hermione, who’d slumped low in her chair. She looked exhausted. He knew she needed time to herself, but he couldn’t leave without some answers. “I don’t understand,” he said to her after a pause. “Why did you not mention this before?”

“I couldn’t,” she said softly, staring straight ahead at the empty sofa and the wall behind it. “Ron had me promise not to. And breaking that promise meant…” She trailed off, but Cedric understood. Telling Harry about Ron’s girlfriend made the threat real. It meant he might not be coming back. Hermione had been keeping Ron’s confidence in the same place she kept her hope, and now both had been compromised.

Cedric was almost sorry he said anything at all. Between Hermione’s remorse and Harry’s grief, he wasn’t sure he had accomplished much besides heartache.

He looked to the closed door, thinking of Harry’s pained expression, but also remembering the soothing affect he’d had on it. “Do you think Harry will be all right?” he asked.

When he turned around, Hermione looked a bit less drained, and a bit more alert. She had also fixed him with a bemused frown. “Harry’s survived much worse than this,” she reminded him. Then she narrowed her eyes, and all too late Cedric realized his folly. “What’s going on between you two, anyway?”

“ _What_?” The heat rushed to Cedric’s cheeks, and the air went cold. For a moment, he thought he might lose his balance. He cursed himself for reacting so strongly, but the question was just so unexpected, and so unwanted. He waited until he had regained his composure before stating, “Nothing. What do you mean?”

Could it be what he assumed she meant? Where had the question come from? Was it so blatantly obvious what had passed between them? How could it be, when Cedric himself couldn’t even define it?

“I don’t mean to pry,” she said, even though that was exactly what she was doing. She cast her eyes back down at her lap. “I’m just looking out for Harry. I don’t want him getting hurt, especially not now. The last thing he needs is an unhealthy relationship, or—or someone leading him on.”

“Leading him on? I would never do that,” he said, upset by the accusation. He had absolutely no interest in attracting a bloke. And even if he did, he could never imagine treating Harry with such careless malice. Of course, there was another implication to Hermione’s statement that Cedric tried not to examine: the idea that Harry could be easily led.

“I know you never would intentionally,” said Hermione. “But Cedric…you flirt as easily as breathing. Half the time you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

“Not this again,” Cedric muttered. They had joked often enough about Cedric’s unsought popularity with women, but it wasn’t quite so funny now. Charm and charisma might come to him naturally, but he didn’t abuse it. He wasn’t some tease who enjoyed the attention. Especially not with those he wasn’t attracted to. Especially not with Harry.

And yet an insistent voice reminded him that he’d gone far past flirtation already. He’d snogged Harry in a heated moment, then said nothing as Harry returned his advances tenfold, pinning him to his seat, touching him everywhere. Since then, Cedric had thought only of the implications to himself. What did it say about his sexuality? His loneliness? His state of inebriation? No thought had been spared for Harry’s reaction, or how he might be feeling in the aftermath. It was selfish, but deep down Cedric knew there was a reason for this. He was protecting himself from what now hovered on the edge of their conversation, from the idea that Harry might actually…

“Look, Hermione.” He took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. “I don’t know what Harry told you, but there is nothing happening between us. Last I checked, I’m still straight, and Harry’s still a stubborn git.”

Hermione snorted and rested her cheek on her palm as she regarded him. “Don’t worry, Harry doesn’t tell me anything. Never has. But I think I know him well enough by now to recognize when he fancies someone.”

And there it was. Put into words and spoken out loud. All of a sudden, Hermione’s flat was too crowded, and the air was too thin. “You’re wrong,” said Cedric, his voice sounding dangerous to his own ears. He turned to the door, eager to end the interrogation, while Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I should go.”

“Cedric, wait.” He paused with one foot out the door. Hermione rose from her seat wearing a look of concern. “What if I’m not?”

Cedric stared out onto the landing. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the end of the workday and Cedric stood in the Ministry’s lobby, reading between the lines in that morning’s Daily Prophet. The headline cried, “MINISTRY REVEALS UPDATED STATUS OF DEATH EATERS AT LARGE,” and Cedric scoffed. He didn’t have to peruse the article to know it was nothing more than the monthly prison report. If the people were already on edge, the Prophet certainly wasn’t helping.

He carefully folded the paper and deposited it in a nearby bin. When he glanced up, he spotted Scott coming towards him across the crowded room. Cedric could tell from his brisk gait that something was upsetting him, and he braced himself for whatever was to come.

“There you are!” called Scott once he was close enough to be heard. He walked right up to Cedric and whacked his shoulder with the back of his hand. “What the hell happened last night?”

What hadn’t happened last night? Cedric thought back to standing in Hermione’s flat, revealing the news of Ron’s girlfriend, and the revelations that had followed. The daughter of a Death Eater—and to think that Hermione already knew. Cedric tried not to think of what else Hermione claimed to know, about Harry’s feelings toward him. Suffice to say a _lot_ had happened last night, but Scott couldn’t possibly know about any of it. “What do you mean?” he said cautiously.

Scott threw his hand in the air. “I _mean_ what made you ditch Natasha at her doorstep when she was practically begging for it? And don’t go making shite up, because I heard it all from Alison.”

The question took him by surprise. He’d almost forgotten that last night had also been the night of his unsuccessful date. Cedric rubbed at his temple. This was just what he needed. First it was the accusation of leading someone on, and now it was leaving someone cold. Apparently he couldn’t even smile at a person without making a full year commitment. If things kept going this way, he really was going to focus entirely on his career and become a recluse.

“Why would I need to make anything up?” he asked. He tried to sound dismissive. Hopefully he could end this conversation as quickly as possible because Harry and Hermione would be showing up at any moment, and he didn’t want Scott sticking around and asking questions. “It was a nice date, I had a great time, and in the end I decided I wasn’t interested. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Scott was incredulous. “Not interested? Have you _seen_ Natasha?”

The disbelief in his voice punctured Cedric’s confidence. “I know she’s gorgeous,” he said. “She’s just not what I’m looking for.” Although seeing the decision through Scott’s eyes made him question himself. After all, Natasha _was_ the kind of girl who inspired wet dreams, and guys his age weren’t supposed to say “no” to sex. So why had he found it so easy to pass her up and walk the other way? Cedric had a flash of how vain he must sound, as though he thought he could do better or something. He wasn’t trying to be a snob. He just didn’t know how to explain that looks alone didn’t attract him, and that there had to be some other sort of connection there. God, even saying that to himself made him feel abnormal, or like less of a man. And if he’d never given much thought to his “manliness” before, his recent romantic failings were making him insecure.

“Look, don’t make me explain myself,” he pleaded, because he really didn’t know if he could. “I’m sorry if I upset her. That wasn’t my intent. She seems like a great person, but it just wasn’t there for me. I haven’t anything against her.”

Scott crossed his arms, leaned a shoulder against the nearby wall and sighed. “You know I just worry about you, mate. I don’t want your dick falling off for lack of use. Unless, of course, you’ve been shagging Granger all this time without telling me.”

Cedric glared. Why couldn’t Scott just leave it alone? And how long was this interrogation going to last? He glanced over Scott’s shoulder, grateful that Harry hadn’t yet arrived, and said, “I told you, Hermione’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Shite, that did not come out right. And the way Scott’s eyes narrowed did not bode well. “What does that mean?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to find someone _else_ out of your league.”

Cedric’s spine went stiff, but he thought he sounded very composed when he responded, “No one. I just haven’t the time for that right now, not when the Wizarding community is in such a sorry state.” Scott opened his mouth to object, but Cedric cut him off. “And I’m touched that you’re so concerned with the condition of my dick, really I am, but I think it’ll be just fine without your interference. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Okay, fine, I get the hint.” Scott pushed off from the wall, and to Cedric’s relief, finally looked ready to leave. “Do you want to get drinks tonight? There’s a new pub I was going to check out, and I promise I won’t talk about your bits anymore.”

“Not tonight, sorry. I have a lot of work to get done. Next time?”

“Sure, I’ll let you know. See you around, mate.” Scott waved and started off toward the lifts.

Cedric slowly exhaled. He was in the clear; no awkward explanations required. But just before Scott disappeared from Cedric’s sight, he bumped into Harry who was walking in the opposite direction, still in the authoritative maroon of his Auror robes. Cedric watched them exchange a few words in passing. Then he turned away and prayed that Scott wouldn’t notice where Harry was headed.

“’Lo Cedric.” Harry greeted him with a warm smile. “Thanks again for coming with us.”

Cedric gave a stony-faced nod in return. Now that they were once more face-to-face, he couldn’t get Hermione’s voice out of his head. Was this the smile of a person with a crush, or was Cedric now being paranoid? Either way, he didn’t want to do anything to encourage Harry’s affection.

“Here she comes,” said Harry, spotting Hermione in the crowd. He didn’t appear slighted, so maybe he hadn’t noticed the cold greeting. Cedric felt relieved, and wasn’t that just a contradiction.

As Hermione drew closer Cedric caught sight of her puffy eyes, and he wondered if she’d managed to sleep last night. Harry could probably function on very little sleep, he imagined. Cedric recalled rumors, back when they were both in school, of Harry’s frequent nightmares. He wondered if he still suffered them. Were they the same ones, or had they changed over time? Not that he’d ever ask.

“Let’s get going,” said Harry as Hermione approached. It wasn’t quite the friendly greeting Cedric had received.

“I have the address,” said Hermione. “I’ve never been before, so we’ll Apparate to the village and walk the rest of the way. It shouldn’t be too far.” She held out a hand to each of them. Cedric took one while Harry took the other, and Cedric was silently grateful it wasn’t Harry’s hand he had to touch.

A moment later they were in the quiet town of Harriford. Cedric could tell from a glance that Harriford was one of those neighborhoods that was once a thriving Wizarding community but had lost much of its populace in the first war and never fully recovered. Abandoned houses were scattered among their neighbors over the hills; they were distinguishable by unkempt lawns and shuttered windows.

They walked for some time in silence. The only people they passed were a few children playing in the front yard, who took one look at the great Harry Potter and ran inside. Cedric assumed they had run off to tell their parents, but maybe the parents didn’t believe them, because no adults emerged to ask for autographs.

When they finally arrived at the MacNair estate, Cedric mistook it for just one more empty home like the several they had passed. But Hermione stopped in front of it and said, “This is it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She double-checked the scrap of parchment in her hand. “Number thirty-four. I’m positive.”

The three of them stared at the front door. It was clear that the house was once quite grand. Not a mansion, but large enough to have required hired help to keep it living and breathing and in proper shape. It was also clear that it hadn’t seen that sort of upkeep in many years. The grass was overgrown everywhere except on either side of the path that led from the street, a winding stone walkway with wide cracks. The door and windows that looked out over the lawn were all in need of fresh paint, and at least one window was in need of a new pane of glass. But there were subtle hints of occupation as well. A carefully tended rose bush bloomed near the entrance, for example.

Because of the hilly terrain, the MacNairs’ neighbors were hidden from sight, and the entire property felt isolated. Cedric strained his ears, but the only sounds came from a chilled breeze and a distant bird.

“Well,” said Harry, squaring his shoulders, “come on. Let’s see if she’s home.”

They walked the path slowly, Harry in front with Hermione and Cedric trailing behind. “What does she do, anyway?” asked Harry over his shoulder. “Does she work?” The question was laden with the assumption that she sat at home all day squandering the last of her family’s wealth.

“She freelances,” said Hermione. “Various jobs here and there.” When Harry cast her a disapproving look, she placed her hands on her hips. “She had difficulty finding any work with her surname, but I hear she was managing quite well doing photography for the Prophet.”

Cedric shook his head. This type of story was all too common, and it came up again and again when he was doing research for his antidiscrimination bill. “I’m sure she doesn’t get to see her name in the bylines, of course.”

“She uses a pseudonym,” Hermione explained.

Harry shot one last glare behind him and made his priorities clear. “I’ll feel sorry for her once she tells us where Ron is.”

Cedric frowned at the path and said nothing.

When they reached the front door, Harry was the one to knock, loud and angry as though he’d come to make an arrest. A strong gust of wind caused the tall grass to crackle, but otherwise there was no response. No one came to the door. Cedric leaned forward to try his luck, but Harry held up a hand to stop him.

“Wait. Something’s wrong.” Harry’s face was scrunched in concentration, but other than the property’s general disrepair, Cedric couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Then Harry closed his eyes. Suddenly, Cedric was reminded of Teddy, Harry’s godson, and the adorable way he had poured all of his focus into one of his transformations. The resemblance made Cedric grin—briefly. Harry, who stood obliviously beside him with eyes still closed, placed his raised hand on the chipped paint of the front door.

“I don’t like this,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Don’t like _what_?” asked Cedric. He’d seen Scott at work, and he knew there were diagnostic spells that were used for this sort of thing. One didn’t just place a hand on a door and announce there was something wrong.

Maybe Harry caught the disbelief in Cedric’s voice. He furrowed his brow and slowly lowered his hand. “Something feels off. And I think her wards are down.” Without explaining further, he simply cast an unlocking charm, placed his hand on the knob, and began to turn.

That’s when Cedric grabbed him by the wrist. Gut instincts were one thing; this was going too far. “You can’t just walk into a stranger’s home while they’re away.”

“Why not?” Harry’s arm, still in Cedric’s grip, tensed. Cedric was now aware of their touching skin, but he didn’t let go. If anything, he gripped a bit tighter. He didn’t want to be mistaken for gentle.

“You’re an Auror. A representative of the Ministry. Breaking and entering is _illegal_ , and it’s an invasion of privacy.”

With his free hand, Harry reached up and tore his Auror’s badge off his chest. “There,” he said, staring straight into Cedric’s eyes. “Now I’m not representing anyone but myself.” As though it were that simple. He twisted his arm away with very little effort.

“You still can’t go in there,” said Cedric, but it was too late. Harry was already inside, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior of the MacNair family home.

“Hello?” he called out. The volume was jarring compared to the silence within. Harry took a step further while Hermione followed him inside. She seemed to have no moral dilemma about what they were doing, and even inclined her head toward Cedric with something like impatience. Then again, Cedric was the only one present without a personal stake in Ron’s discovery. He kept forgetting that. He took a deep breath and joined them in the house.

“What are we looking for?” Hermione whispered.

“I’m not sure,” said Harry. “But I think we’ll know it when we see it. Let’s split up.” As he took one direction and Hermione took another, Cedric lamented getting caught up in Harry’s questionable ethics. He went in a third direction and prayed that no one would suddenly come home.

Although he didn’t like the idea of prying into someone’s life without permission, it didn’t take long for Cedric to be fascinated by exploring a house with so much history. The first room he entered was a sitting room of sorts. The Victorian era décor lay under an inch of dust; clearly no one had used the space in years. He wanted to take a closer look at some of the rare magical items locked in a display case, but he knew they wouldn’t hold the clue he was looking for, and he forced himself to move on.

The next room was entirely different. It had hints of the same Victorian style with its peeling damask wallpaper and ornate oversized fireplace, but the furniture was comfortable and worn. A stack of magazines rested on a side table next to a glass still half filled with water. Bookshelves lined the wall filled with ancient volumes bound in cracked leather, but also with popular novels and a few Hogwarts textbooks that Cedric recognized. There was even a scarf thrown over the back of a chair. This was a room that Eleanor MacNair actually used. This was where she spent part of her day-to-day life, whatever that life entailed.

He searched around for a few minutes, even opened a few eye-catching books, but didn’t find much he thought they could use. All he could guess was that she was an avid reader and that she’d taken the same Arithmancy class he had. But that didn’t add up to knowing a person.

The only thing left to inspect was a closet at the end of the room, which he assumed held something dull like clothing or cleaning supplies. He opened the door and peered into the unnatural darkness. A chill went through him when he realized it wasn’t a closet after all – it seemed to be an entire room. And it reeked of corrosive potions.

“ _Lumos_ ,” he whispered, preemptively squinting against the light. But instead of the bright light he’d intended, his wand emitted an eerie red glow that gave him a jolt of panic. What the hell was tampering with his wand? Had he stumbled into dark magic? He thought he saw something move inside and wondered if he should call for backup.

Then his eyes adjusted to the weak red light; he took a closer look and breathed a sigh of relief. All around the room hung photographs of various sizes. This wasn’t dark magic; this was Eleanor’s darkroom.

Carefully, he closed the door behind him to block out the natural light so all that was left was his wand’s red glow – and that must have been a clever bit of magic to be able to control the room’s light sources like that. Glancing around, he noticed that the photos were mostly black and white, which made sense if she were working for the Prophet. He turned to the ones nearest to him and even recognized a few images he’d seen in the paper over the years. Here was a photo of that near-riot that took place outside the Ministry during one of its hearings. Here was a tearful reunion of a witch and her muggle parents. Cedric didn’t know much about photography, but Eleanor seemed to have a knack for waiting for the right moment, when emotions ran highest. Her subjects moved about in perpetual states of joy, or fear, or anger. To see them all together like this formed some broad tapestry of human drama, a summary of the last few years of postwar strain. He turned to another photo, and accidentally knocked a tray off a table, which clattered to the floor.

“Hello? Is someone in there?” came a voice from the other side of the door.

“It’s just me, Harry. I’m in here.”

The door opened a moment later, and Harry stood as a silhouette against a patch of natural light. From his new perspective within the darkroom, Cedric could see how most of the light seemed to magically die on the threshold. No wonder the room had looked so ominous.

Harry stayed there in the doorway, probably appraising the situation the way Cedric had.

“It’s safe to come in,” Cedric assured him. “Close the door behind you.”

Without further hesitation, Harry entered and plunged them back into near darkness. Cedric couldn’t help noticing that level of trust.

“Where are we?” asked Harry as he lit his own wand. The red hue didn’t seem to throw him.

“This must be where she develops her photos.” Cedric took another glance around the room, but he didn’t know the function of most of these items. There were vats that held the potions he smelled on the way in, charts of timed spells, and a large, adjustable contraption with a lens that pointed down.

Harry, like him, seemed more interested in the photos hanging to dry all around them. He went straight to the back of the room, to a series of pictures that Cedric hadn’t yet inspected.

It was no wonder Harry spotted them first; they were all photos of Ron. Taking a quick survey, Cedric realized with shock there were at least twenty images of the same freckled face scattered around the room.

Harry reached up for a small one and pulled it down so he could take a closer look. From where Cedric stood, it didn’t look like anything remarkable – just Ron sitting in a chair, perhaps a chair in this house, laughing and trying to avoid the camera. Harry must have seen something else in it. He studied the picture for a long time with complete concentration, as though it held every answer he was looking for. Eventually he lowered the photo and looked back up at the larger images, but it didn’t escape Cedric’s notice that the small one ended up in the pocket of Harry’s robes.

“He looks happy,” said Harry with a hush. It was true – in each photograph Ron was smiling or laughing. Genuine smiles, too, the kind that crinkled his eyes, even when he seemed unaware of the camera. Cedric wondered why Harry sounded so surprised.

“You miss him,” he said. He wasn’t sure what made him say it. In fact, he wished he hadn’t. It made the darkroom feel suddenly far too intimate.

Harry’s eyes shot to Cedric, then he lowered his head with a shrug. “Yeah. But…before he disappeared.”

Cedric didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t pry. He knew by now that Harry would explain without prompting, at his own pace. And it was probably a bad idea to encourage Harry’s confidence anyway, even though he wanted to, he truly did. There was some perverse fascination that wanted to know every detail of Harry’s life. Cedric turned his back and lifted a picture from the table without actually seeing it. In his mind he was battling between insatiable curiosity, and an increasing need to distance himself from all of this.

Behind him, he could hear Harry take a few steps then pause; he heard the soft rustle of photo paper. “We weren’t as close as we used to be,” Harry finally continued. “It was my fault, really. When I decided to break it off with Ginny – for good – I wouldn’t tell him why. I mean, I gave him excuses and stuff, but I guess he knew I was holding something back. I don’t know. It wasn’t the same after that.”

Cedric was surprised. He had no idea their relationship had been strained before the disappearance, and it added a layer of understanding to what Harry was going through. No one wanted to lose a friend while things remained unresolved.

It was then that Cedric finally noticed the photograph he was holding. Ron was in it, but he wasn’t alone. He was in the middle of a long, sensual kiss with an attractive dark-haired witch. That had to be Eleanor. Every now and then they’d break apart and stare into each other’s eyes before bringing their lips together again.

Without warning, Harry walked up behind him to reach out for the photo, and Cedric’s stomach flipped. Harry shouldn’t be seeing this, he thought. He didn’t know what made him feel so protective, but he didn’t release the picture when Harry grabbed it from the other end. The unfortunate result was that they now held it _together_. Harry remained standing slightly behind Cedric to his right, close enough that Cedric could feel Harry’s body heat and his breath on his neck. Ron and Eleanor continued to snog on the glossy paper, but Cedric felt frozen in place.

“I guess Ron and I are even now,” said Harry, almost directly into Cedric’s ear. “We both had our secrets.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” said Cedric quietly. The proximity was getting to him. And there was no way to escape without bumping into the man behind him. Had Harry trapped him on purpose? Was he really focused on Ron, or would he take advantage of this dark, enclosed space to make his move? Cedric wondered what was stopping Harry from touching his fingers to the small of Cedric’s back. From moving just an increment closer. From crumpling the photo that separated their two hands.

 _“Harry!”_ The distant cry was dull but unmistakable. Harry dropped the photo and rushed from the room while Cedric followed behind him, trying to shake the images from his paranoid imagination.

They found Hermione in a bedroom on the second floor, surrounded by devastation. Now Cedric knew what they had been looking for, and he wished they hadn’t found it.

The room was full of evidence of flying spells. A lamp lay shattered on the floor; curtains were torn from the walls. The sheets were singed. Harry entered cautiously, stepping around glass from the broken window and holding his wand aloft. Hermione remained in the doorway, a hand held to her mouth.

“What do you think happened?” she asked. Her voice wavered.

Harry slowly turned in the center of the room. The hand without a wand was clenched in a fist, and when Cedric took a closer look he saw that Harry’s entire body was tensed for a fight. When he had made a full rotation and taken everything in, he faced Hermione and said, “She must have turned on him.”

Hermione seemed shocked at this conclusion. Cedric certainly was. “That can’t be…” she said.

“Look around you!” Harry shouted. “Obviously there was a fight, and that woman had to be involved. We’re in her fucking _bedroom_!”

Cedric took a step forward, shattered glass crunching under his shoe. He could see how worked up Harry was getting and he was afraid of what would happen once he lost his rationality.

“Come on Harry, they were happy together. You saw for yourself. Why would she attack him?”

Harry now shifted his full attention away from Hermione and onto Cedric. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said, indicating the room “She was running out of money, and Ron wasn’t giving her enough. So she forced him into going to Gringotts and clearing out his vault.” Cedric could tell he was making up the outlandish story as he went along. “Then she must have ditched him so she could run off with the gold.”

Hermione folded her arms against her chest. “I told you, she was supporting herself. She didn’t need his money.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Harry responded.

“And _you_ can’t know that she was the attacker. Maybe they were both ambushed.”

Harry shook his head. “No. It’s that Macnair woman, I know it is.”

 _“How?”_ Hermione asked.

“It’s my job, okay? I can feel it in this room. And I don’t trust this woman, whoever she is, wherever she is. She has to be involved.”

Cedric couldn’t imagine anyone being so stubborn. He could see now that Harry had been ready to accuse Eleanor long before they ever entered her home. Calling her “that Macnair woman” was proof of the sort of prejudice Cedric found especially infuriating. And he was tired of trying to impress Harry, tired of working so hard to earn his trust and respect. “You do know that this is exactly why the Aurors tried to shut you out,” he told Harry, not caring that it would undoubtedly make him angry. “You’re too close to the case. Your judgment is completely clouded.”

Harry walked straight up to him until they stood face to face. “I may be too close, but at least I care about Ron. You don’t even know him, so just keep your opinions to yourself.”

Cedric was struck by the truth of that statement. Harry was right; he didn’t know Ron at all. Why was he expending so much effort to find him? What was he even doing in this depressing house? He had something more far important to accomplish, work that would benefit everyone, not just one missing friend. He had completely lost sight of his priorities, and now—Harry was giving him an out. He took a step back. “It seems to me you didn’t really know Ron, either.”

He nearly regretted the words as they left his lips; he hadn’t meant to be quite so harsh, but his statement sliced through the air and there was no taking it back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione cast him a look of shock and utter disappointment. But that was okay. Mentally he was already leaving the room, leaving that house, getting away from the hero with unruly hair who wanted so much out of him and gave so little in return.

It seemed fitting when Harry’s face shuttered completely, leaving no trace of the man Cedric had grown to know. He looked how he had on that first night: cold, intimidating, armored. A riddle that refused to be solved.

“I know Ron well enough to know this: he wouldn’t want you here.” There was no heat in Harry’s statement. His words were as hard as ice.

Cedric took another step back. “Fine, then. Good luck with your search.”

And that was that. He turned around, and with the glass still crunching under him, walked calmly from the room. Hermione tried to call to him on his way out, but he ignored her. He kept on walking, repeating to himself over and over again that he was making the right decision. Things would be better this way. He didn’t stop until he could no longer see the house, and only then did he realize how long he’d been holding his breath.


	8. Chapter 8

Cedric’s dart whizzed through the air, intent on the multicolored dartboard that hovered about an inch or so from the wall. Its trajectory looked promising, but the sharp point ended up lodged just left of the bright purple bull’s-eye.

“Bollocks,” said Cedric. He readied his next shot.

“You’re out of practice, mate,” Scott taunted. “I’m amazed you can hit the target at all.”

“I only have to imagine it’s your face,” Cedric retorted as he let the next dart fly. This time it found dead center, and Cedric let out a cheer. “You were saying?”

“Lucky throw. It’s far too early in the game to get cocky.”

As though proving that point, Cedric’s last dart went wide. He tallied his score, stepped out of Scott’s line of fire, and took a look around.

Like any Saturday night, the smallish pub where they played was filled wall to wall with young witches and wizards. Everyone was chatting and drinking, enjoying the freedom of the weekend and the freedom from war. Or maybe only Cedric thought in those terms. While Scott took aim, Cedric couldn’t help wondering if the laughing faces around them remembered how difficult laughter had been only four years prior. Did the war make everything seem brighter in comparison? Were people happier now that they knew how unhappy they could be? Or was You-Know-Who just a repressed memory, a dark blip in the day-to-day routine of going to work and going out to pubs? These were old, recurring questions for Cedric. He seemed to entertain them more and more lately, especially with the speech he’d been obsessing over for the past few days.

“Your turn,” said Scott. “Oi, you’re spacing again.”

Cedric shook off the bout of introspection and grinned. “Sorry.” Then, seeing Scott’s disapproval, added, “I wasn’t thinking about the press conference.”

“You better not be,” warned Scott. He pointed a menacing dart toward Cedric’s chest. “Remember, there is absolutely no talk of work tonight. And don’t think I won’t hex your mouth shut if it comes to it.”

Cedric snatched the dart away. “But then you’ll be deprived of my melodious voice.”

“That’s just a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Ooh, that hurts. That hurts right here,” said Cedric, placing a hand to his heart before turning his attention back to the dartboard. He lifted his dart to shoulder level and focused on its destination. “You’re just saying these things to throw me off my game.”

“Cedric!” called a familiar female voice behind him.

Cedric’s arm came forward but the dart remained in his hand, and he staggered to keep his balance. Spinning around, he saw one of the last people he expected to run into at a pub.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?”

For there she was in flattering blue robes, her hair pulled back in a way that looked both careless and deliberate. She held a glass of wine, and she was smiling at the sight of him. If she was happy to see him, he wasn’t yet sure if he felt the same.

“My friend Bethany brought me,” she explained with a giggle. “I’d introduce you, but I’m afraid she’s gone to the loo. We came from the pub just down the street.” With her free hand she indicated the direction. Judging by her animated tone, she was already a bit tipsy. Cedric knew Hermione wasn’t a frequent drinker, and he guessed the glass in her hand was only her second or third, at most.

“Hello Granger,” said Scott. “Might I say you’re looking lovely tonight.”

Her cheeks went a little pink. “Why thank you. But I can’t take credit; these robes aren’t even mine. I’m afraid it’s all Bethany’s doing.”

“Ah, but you’re the one making them look good.” Despite rolling her eyes, Hermione was clearly pleased by the compliment, and this for some reason irritated Cedric. “So what brings you out here tonight?” Scott asked.

Exactly what Cedric was wondering. They’d only talked once since he had stormed from the Macnair estate, what was it – two days earlier? It felt like years. The conversation had been awkward and strained, and he and Hermione had only agreed that Cedric would take over the press conference, with the implication that Hermione would continue the search for Ron. So what was she doing in a pub, dressed up and carefree? Was there news he hadn’t yet heard? Ron couldn’t have been found, or Scott would have mentioned it. And where was Harry? His tongue burned to ask these questions, but it wasn’t wise, not while Scott stood next to him.

Hermione gave Cedric a meaningful glance, but he could read nothing concrete in it. “I needed the night off,” she said, in answer to Scott’s question. “It was…one of those weeks.”

Scott raised his hands in protest. “Stop right there. Work is a strictly forbidden topic tonight.”

Cedric knew she hadn’t been talking about work, but Hermione just smiled, raised her glass, and said, “Rightly so.” She took a small sip then asked, “What about certain people who insist on being absolutely impossible? Is that discussion allowed?” Before she could elaborate, Hermione suddenly waved across the room and said, “There’s Bethany. I’ll leave you to your game. It was nice to see you both!” She sent one more cryptic glance to Cedric before diving back into the crowd.

“Bye,” said Cedric lamely, his mind racing. Did he just miss something? Was the “impossible” person supposed to be Harry or himself? In the two days since the Macnair’s he had submerged himself in his work, sparing no thought for the fight that had severed his brief friendship with the obstinate hero. Now he’d been given a reminder, and he could feel some uncomfortable emotion resurfacing. Just the thought of Harry induced a sharp pain deep within his gut. It felt something like anger or disappointment, but those words didn’t explain the intensity, so acute that if he dwelt on it he actually grimaced.

“So,” said Scott, nudging his arm, “what was that all about? You two were exchanging more looks than words.”

Cedric shrugged him off. He shrugged off the whole encounter, in fact. His own reactions to it didn’t make any sense, and the only solution he had was to ignore them entirely. “No idea. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a game to win.”

“You wish.”

Cedric’s first dart landed in a yellow space that decided to switch to lime green at the last second. He groaned at the loss of points. “Make up your mind, damn board!”

“Oh sure, blame the dartboard.”

“Only if I can’t think of a way to blame you.” He weighed the next dart in his hand, raised it into position, and let it fly at the exact same moment Scott said,

“You know, Potter was asking about you the other day.”

The dart went flying out to the left, hit the invisible barrier protecting the other bar patrons, and stuck there. “Fuck,” said Cedric. He paused a moment to calm the wave of nausea that had accompanied Scott’s words, then stepped forward to pluck the dart from the air. “I deserve a do-over.”

“You do not!” Scott exclaimed.

“You deliberately distracted me.”

“All’s fair in love and darts.”

“Including do-overs,” said Cedric, his entire focus on the game. He re-threw the dart and managed to hit close to center.

Scott didn’t comment on the throw. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to the game at all anymore. “Don’t you want to know what Potter was asking?”

Cedric did. Every nerve in his body ached to know, and it made him feel pathetic and desperate. “I could care less,” is what he said out loud.

“He just wanted to know how you were. How the press—sorry, I mean how that thing-which-must-not-be-named was going.”

“That’s nice of him,” said Cedric, going for disinterest. “And what did you say?”

“I said that you were a bloody workaholic who needed to get laid. He laughed.”

Cedric lost his balance with the second dart. Damn. Another lime space.

“I think he fancies you,” said Scott.

The third dart was a bull’s eye. All of Cedric’s will now went toward slowing his pounding heart and calming his rising temper as he retrieved the darts for Scott. “Your turn,” he said. His voice was laced with warning.

Scott didn’t even bother taking the darts offered to him. “Oh come on,” he said, clapping Cedric on the back. “Don’t be such a prude. I think you should go for it.”

That was enough to tip Cedric’s temper over the edge. He slammed the darts down on the nearest table and tried his best to wipe the smirk off of his friend’s face. “What is your problem? Can’t you take a bloody hint?”

Scott took a step back. “What hint?”

“Potter is the most stubborn, infuriating git I’ve ever met. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want anything to do with him. And I’m tired of everything turning into a fucking joke about my sex life. Just stay out of my personal business, all right?”

Cedric stopped there, hoping he had made his point. Scott was no longer smiling, but he didn’t look particularly contrite, either. He just seemed confused.

“Since when are you angry at Potter? What did he do?”

Cedric shook his head. “You don’t listen, do you?” he asked. He hadn’t come out to the pub tonight to dwell on the complications of his life. He could do that just as easily at home. He turned toward the door and started to walk away.

“Hey Cedric, wait!” Scott called out after him. Cedric paused and crossed his arms while Scott caught up to him, elbowing through the crowd with both their outer robes in hand. “Let’s step outside,” he said, motioning with a nod.

Cedric followed him through the front doors of the pub and stepped into the chilly night. He pulled his cloak tightly around him, but the fresh air felt good. It helped to clear his thoughts. At least, it brought their muddled state into sharp relief.

“Look,” said Scott after a moment’s silence, “I know I’m not Matt.”

Cedric’s head whipped around in shock. The statement came out of nowhere. By some unspoken agreement, they rarely talked about their friend who had died in the war, and Cedric couldn’t see a reason for bringing him up now. “Of course you’re not.”

“I know…” Scott trailed off and started again, strange for the wizard never at a loss for words. His voice was quiet, unusually solemn. “I know you used to confide in him. More than you ever did with me.” Before Cedric could deny it, Scott shook his head. “It’s fine, it never bothered me. You two were close. And I told Matt some things I never told you.”

“Like what?” asked Cedric, curious but also eager to turn the attention away from himself.

“Like…remember that bird Val, who I was shagging our last year at Hogwarts?”

Cedric nodded. How could he forget Scott’s constant bragging?

Scott breathed warm air into his hands before rubbing them together. “Well, I never told you this, but that woman ripped my heart out. I was head over heels in love with her. _Deeply_ in love. But she just wanted to screw.” Cedric raised his brows in surprise, and Scott looked down at his feet, his cheeks going pink either from embarrassment or the cold. “I never told you because…I don’t know, I wanted to impress you or something.”

This made Cedric laugh; he couldn’t help it. “Impress me? Why?”

Scott smiled as well. “You might not remember this, but you were a big deal on campus. Triwizard Champ? Head boy? Quidditch captain? Even if it was Hufflepuff… Point is, you were cool, mate, and I didn’t want you to know that I was all torn up inside over a bird. Anyway, I told Matt. He always listened like he really gave a shite, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” Cedric had taken advantage of Matt’s confidence too many times to count. He would talk late into the night about the pressures of being looked up to, or his insecurities as a team captain, and later, a Champion. All the things that seemed so trivial now. He wondered what they’d be talking about if Matt were still around.

“I’m not Matt,” Scott continued. “I know I don’t always listen like he did. But you certainly don’t make it easy, mate.” He let out a breath of steam that hung in the night air. “All I’m saying is that I wish you’d level with me sometimes instead of keeping it all inside and making me guess all the fucking time.”

“What are you talking about?” said Cedric. “Where is this coming from?”

“I wish I knew. Something’s been bothering you, and you won’t tell me what it is. It’s not the first time, either. I swear, you weren’t so uptight before the war,” he added, almost to himself.

At that moment, a couple exited the pub for a smoke. Cedric and Scott instinctively moved away from the door and lowered their voices.

“A lot of things were different before the war,” said Cedric. He could hardly believe they were having this conversation. He considered himself a private person, but he wasn’t uptight. He wasn’t secretive. Scott was making him sound like Harry, for Merlin’s sake, a thought that was accompanied by a guilty ache. Okay, so he _had_ been keeping a secret lately, and the justifications for that secret had been getting steadily weaker. He still didn’t want to discuss it, but if it would make Scott happy, then maybe it was time to come clean.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “I haven’t been honest with you lately. I was helping Harry and Hermione search for Ron. I didn’t want to tell you outright, because I didn’t want you to get in trouble with the Aurors.”

Scott waved the confession away like a pesky fly. “And?” he asked, as though Cedric were intentionally wasting his time.

“What do you want me say?” Cedric cried, throwing his hands in the air. He forgot to keep his voice down; the couple having a smoke gave them a strange look then went back inside.

“There’s something else going on,” said Scott. “You’ve been irritable and touchy for days. Longer than that. It’s something to do with Potter, right?”

“I told you,” said Cedric, seething. “I don’t want to talk about him.” He immediately realized how that sounded. But if he was being closed-off, secretive, guarded, all of the things he was being accused of, then so be it. There were some doors that Scott had no right to open. He didn’t care how long they had been friends. He didn’t care that Matt was gone and Scott was all he had left. None of that could persuade Cedric to open this particular Pandora’s box just so his nosy mate could have a peek inside.

Scott ran a hand through his short hair. “I know Potter’s insufferable. I work with him, yeah? But he obviously did something to upset you this much. Either that or…”

Scott trailed off, and Cedric decided he’d had enough for one night. “It’s late,” he said. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you on Monday.” For the second time that evening he tried to walk away – there were still some edits he needed to make to his speech – but Scott grabbed him by the elbow before he could get far.

“Ced, wait.”

Cedric wrenched his arm away, and turned to hear what words Scott could offer that would make him stay.

“Do you—“ Scott shook his head. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m not trying to be a prat, I swear. We don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and all.” He paused to take a breath then said, “I don’t want to see you walking around with any more regrets.”

The last sentence, spoken so casually, wrenched something open in Cedric’s chest. Because they both knew what Scott meant by the word ‘regret.’

That one word conjured up the smells of the hospital where Scott had recovered from his mangled arm. It represented the day Cedric learned that Matt was dead, the same day he volunteered to help the beleaguered medics. It was synonymous with the bouts of grief and guilt that would send him to the nearest washroom to sob when he was supposed to be helping those who had _actually_ suffered. It was that long, dark hallway that Scott had helped him through, even though it should have been the other way around.

So Cedric understood the implication of the word ‘regret.’ It was a poison that used to eat at him daily. He remembered exactly how it had felt to spend every moment wishing the past could be different. And it didn’t take long for him to make the connection and realize that he had spent the past two days trying to keep that very emotion at bay.

He thought of Harry, and with a burst of lucidity, everything fell into place. Cedric finally understood the events of the past week. He had a definite name for the pain in his gut. It was so obvious and so easy a conclusion that he laughed, loud and awkward; but then the truth had a chance to sink in, and it sobered him rather quickly. He swore under his breath.

Scott was studying him, hands tucked into his pockets, chin tucked into his collar. Cedric had never felt so grateful to have such a pushy, brash, concerned friend. With a deep, shuddering breath, he looked Scott in the eye and opened up in a way he hadn’t in a very long time.

“I don’t know what to do.”

***

Harry’s home was not what Cedric expected. It was located in a questionable neighborhood, and the detailing on the front door was aristocratic and darkly intimidating. Then again, Cedric knew by now that nothing about Harry was quite as expected. He knocked and listened to it echo through what sounded like a very empty, narrow space.

It was late, but not so late that he could justify waiting until tomorrow. “Like a bandage,” Scott said only an hour ago. “You need to get it over with right away. The sooner the better, before you give yourself time to chicken out.” Well, he hadn’t chickened out, because here he was, waiting, as nervous as he had been in the moments leading up to the first task. Back then he had barely noticed the presence of some famous frightened kid with a scar. Now he was the center of his attention. Incredible how much had changed.

After a few seconds that felt like hours, he could hear footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, and the same kid with a scar, now a fully-grown enigma of a man, peered out at him. Harry wore his usual hunched posture, what Cedric considered his defensive stance. His eyes squinted into the darkness outside, surprised and wary. His hair was a mess as usual, and the rush of cold air had begun to flush his cheeks with subtle color. Cedric wanted to drink in each of these details and commit them to memory.

“Cedric? What are you doing here?”

For a moment, Cedric was rendered speechless. His head was a cauldron brimming over with the hormones and nerves of a teenager, and he didn’t have the words to explain to Harry how much had changed in such a short time. A veil had lifted. He wasn’t here to start a fight and he wasn’t here to call a truce. He’d arrived tonight with the simple goal of pinning Harry against the wall and re-tasting his mouth.

Cedric cleared his suddenly dry throat. He needed to take things one step at a time. “Can I come in?”

Harry seemed a little flustered by the question. “I, uh…you could, except…it’s not really a good time. That is, I was…”

“It’s fine,” came a voice from behind him. Harry whipped around, and Cedric tried to peer over his shoulder. The door opened all the way to reveal some bloke Cedric had never seen before. A handsome man with sandy hair and muscles. A cocky looking bastard with disheveled clothes and…fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. The air seemed to turn several degrees colder as Cedric’s hopes came plummeting down.

“I’m sorry,” said Cedric, backing away. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Wait, Cedric—”

“No really,” said the stranger. “Stay. I was just leaving.”

Harry looked over at him. “Are you sure? You don’t have to go.” The protest sounded insincere, or so Cedric hoped.

“I’m sure,” the sandy-haired prat replied, giving Cedric a once-over. “It was good seeing you, love.” He placed a quick peck on Harry’s cheek — Cedric winced, but Harry didn’t notice — and walked toward the street, nodding to Cedric as he passed. In his demeanor, Cedric saw all of the things he lacked: confidence, experience, and a complete comfort with his sexuality.

“Er, sorry about that,” said Harry with a lot of blinking. “Will you come in?”

Cedric gave his battleground of emotions a moment to settle. He had considered a million different scenarios on his way here, and none of them involved a fit stranger leaving Harry’s home. He walked through the front door in a daze.

Harry’s house was even more baffling from the inside. The dimly lit corridor in which he found himself gave off the feel of dark magic and old money. The walls were scarred by the scorch marks of missing items forcibly removed. A stairwell stretched upward, revealing far too many rooms for just one person. Yet these details barely registered with Cedric who was still only thinking of one thing. “Who was that?” he asked.

“Jeff? No one really. Just some bloke I used to date. I hadn’t seen him in a while, so we were catching up.”

Cedric, strolling to the end of the hall, looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Catching up?” He didn’t have any right to sound angry, but did Harry think he was an idiot?

Harry gave a nervous chuckle, and ran a hand through his hair. “Not like _that_. We were talking. He really was about to leave.” There was an awkward silence before Harry asked, “Do you want some tea?”

“No thanks,” said Cedric. He could just imagine the men lining up around the block outside Harry’s door. He considered himself to be sufficiently attractive, but why would Harry be interested in someone with no skill and too many reservations? “Maybe I should go,” he said.

“No!” Harry surprised him with the vehemence of his response. “No, actually, I wanted to talk to you. I’m glad you came.” He squeezed past Cedric to the next room and motioned for him to follow. “Come sit down.”

Cedric felt a bit more comfortable there in the dining room, where the regal atmosphere was dampened by piles of strewn quidditch gear and walls covered with Gryffindor paraphernalia. It had much more evidence of Harry’s touch. He pulled a seat out from the table, but Harry elected to remain standing. “I wanted to tell you,” said Harry with all sincerity, “that you were right. It wasn’t Macnair who attacked Ron.”

“Oh,” said Cedric. He didn’t have anything else to add. He hadn’t come to talk about Macnair, or Ron, and he’d nearly forgotten the content of their argument in the first place. But this seemed like something Harry needed to say. And Harry admitting he was wrong certainly wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

Harry began to pace by the head of the table. “I don’t know what I was thinking. The attack _couldn’t_ have come from within the house; the window was broken from the outside. So you were right. They must have been attacked together. From what I can tell, they didn’t even get a chance to retaliate, just Disapparated on the spot. But too much time has passed. Even if I could measure the traces, the trail would be cold by now.”

While Harry talked, Cedric’s heart pounded. Only half of him was paying attention to Harry’s analysis. The other half was wondering how he was going to get through tonight. There was no reason for him to be frightened, but knowing that didn’t calm his nerves, and it did nothing to illuminate the unknown he was about to step into. That’s when Cedric had the realization that bravery was not the same thing as fearlessness. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being brave meant being scared shitless of what lay ahead, yet facing it anyway.

Grasping that made him feel as though he understood Harry just a little bit more.

Harry stopped pacing and turned to Cedric. “So our only lead is Eleanor Macnair. I’m thinking that if she wasn’t the attacker, then she could have been the target. Maybe it was an enemy of her father’s or something, and Ron was just caught in the middle.”

Cedric’s fingers brushed against a piece of parchment in his pocket that he’d nearly forgotten about. Until now, he hadn’t been sure why he was carrying it around with him, but part of him must have predicted this encounter. He handed it to Harry, who took it with a questioning look. His eyes skimmed the text with speed, growing wider with each sentence.

“This…” Harry lowered the page to look at Cedric, then back at the parchment, then back at Cedric again. “This is a transcript of Macnair’s trial.”

Cedric nodded.

“This is sealed, classified information. None of the trials were made public.”

Cedric started to grin. “And it includes everyone that Macnair incriminated to lessen his sentence. Apparently he made himself quite a few enemies that day.”

“But how did you get this?”

“I’m told I can be quite charming.”

Harry glanced at the parchment once more with a frown. “You could get in a load of trouble for showing it to me.”

That’s when Cedric saw his opening. He stood, feeling ill but determined. He could do this, he told himself. He had played this scene in his head so many times in the past hour that he knew it forward and backward. It was just a matter of getting the words past his throat. With a deep breath, he placed a hand lightly on Harry’s arm and said, with all the innuendo he could muster, “Sometimes you need to take risks.”

Some uncertainty flashed through Harry’s eyes as he took a step back, shaking the hand from his arm. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Harry stared at him long and hard, with an expression somewhere between confusion and concern. Finally, he refolded the parchment, placed it in his pocket, and said, “It looks like you’re making a mistake.” Then he walked back out into the hallway.

The words rang in Cedric’s ears like a verdict. “A mistake,” he repeated. His hyperactive emotions swung from anxiety to anger, and he stomped after Harry shouting, “What’s that supposed to mean? Is this because of that guy Jeff?”

“ _Jeff?_ What are you talking about?” Harry turned and placed a hand to his forehead. “Are we even having this conversation? Jeff has nothing to do with anything. You’re…”

“I’m what?” Cedric asked with dread. Oh god. Harry didn’t fancy him after all. His massive ego had blinded his judgment. Or what if, the one time they had snogged, Harry had been unimpressed?

“You’re straight,” Harry cried. There was heartbreak in his voice. It was the first time Cedric had ever heard him sound like that. It was probably the first time Harry had allowed it. But there was no mistaking it now; despair was written in the lines of his face, and his large, green eyes seemed to be pleading. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not going to fall for someone who’s just messing around. I’m sorry, Cedric. I think you should go.”

That was all that Cedric needed to hear. He was so wound up from his rollercoaster evening of fear, hope, and realization that if he didn’t act immediately, he was sure something would burst. Without another thought, he closed the remaining gap and pressed his lips to Harry’s, spinning their bodies so he could press Harry against the wall like he had envisioned. The physical contact was the tiny spark that lit a flame inside of him. The first time they had kissed had not been so long ago, but he had forgotten the aching thrill of it, or the way that Harry responded to fire with fire. Now it was he who pushed Cedric back against the opposite wall – an easy thing in such a narrow corridor – and pressed his lean body against Cedric’s.

Cedric tilted his head back against the wall, and Harry began placing kisses along his neck. “How about a tour of the house,” said Cedric, his own voice sounding throaty with desire. “You can start with the bedroom.”

Harry looked him in the eye. “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” he asked. Cedric could see Harry’s lingering insecurity, but his own insecurity had vanished. He had never felt so certain.

“I’m sure,” he replied. “Messing around is not something I do.”

A mischievous smile brightened Harry’s face as he led Cedric to the stairs. “Nor do I.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Tonks residence had a television now. That wasn’t too surprising in itself; a lot of families with muggle ties had them these days. The surprising part was that it didn’t come from Harry but from Andromeda Tonks, who had bought it the day before, on a whim as a gift for Teddy. It didn't pick up any stations, but it could play movies, and that's what they were watching together on the couch while Mrs. Tonks was off on another of her mysterious dates.

Well, Harry and Teddy were watching the movie. Cedric was watching something else. Okay, to be more precise, he was watching some _one_ else.

Harry had a habit of running his fingers through his hair so that it stood on end—which was amusing, because his hair seemed to be naturally unruly, and it certainly didn’t need any help. Did Harry even realize he was making it worse? Did he realize that Cedric found that just-got-off-a-broom look so appealing? Probably not; his cluelessness was what made it even sexier. It made Cedric want to reach out and thread his own fingers through the locks of his…

Date? Partner? Boyfriend? Lover? In his mind he tried out each word, saying it over and over again, trying to get used to the sound of it. _Gay. Bi. Queer._ These were words that belonged to him now, even if they still sounded foreign. _Hello, I'm bisexual, and this is Harry Potter my gay boyfriend, and last night we had hot, queer, bent sex._

It was during that inappropriate thought when Teddy turned to him and tugged his sleeve. "Ced, who's that?"

Even though he hadn't been paying attention, it didn't take long for Cedric to pick up on the film's plot. "That's the bad guy."

Teddy scrambled up onto the couch so that his tiny legs were curled up underneath him instead of dangling off the edge. "And he's going to kill the forest, and all the animals won't have any houses anymore?"

"I think you understand this film better than I do," Cedric laughed.

Harry looked over at him and grinned, one his sweet, open grins that so few people got to see. “Hey Teddy, Ced and I are going to get your dinner ready. You stay here and watch the rest of the movie, okay?”

“Okay,” Teddy agreed, eyes fixated on the screen.

Cedric was happy to follow Harry to the kitchen, where they could keep an eye on Teddy through the open doorway while using the rest of the room for some much needed privacy. They had hardly taken two steps out of Teddy’s line of vision before Cedric found himself yanked down into a needy kiss, one that he obliged with gusto. This was what he had been waiting for all night. It was one thing to think about the idea of being in a relationship with a man; it was quite another to experience it physically, to stop analyzing and simply feel Harry’s tongue in his mouth, or the hand that was currently running up his chest.

It transported him back to last night, which sent a shiver down his back. Their first time together had been intense. It had also been slow and awkward, with a lot of explaining and negotiating between the bouts of heated urgency. There was still so much Cedric wanted to learn. He never imagined he could be so aroused by a hard chest with dark hair, or the locker room scent of male sweat, or the sticky weight of a full cock on his tongue. Sex with Harry had touched on levels of lust he never knew he possessed, and he wanted more.

The memory alone was turning him on, and he had to break the kiss before things got out of hand. To think that he had ever questioned his possible attraction to men.

“Keep that up, and we’ll have to send Teddy to bed without supper,” he joked, stroking his thumb along Harry’s jaw line.

Harry laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it.” He leaned in for one last peck on the mouth before going to the refrigerator and taking a look inside. “Mrs. Tonks said there’s some leftover casserole in here. You can have some too if you’re hungry.”

“That’s okay, I ate before I arrived. Do you always call her Mrs. Tonks?” he asked, amused.

“Force of habit. She keeps trying to correct me, though.” Harry reemerged holding a covered dish, presumably the casserole. “Thanks for coming out here tonight,” he continued, moving the leftovers onto a new plate and placing it in the oven. “I know it’s not very romantic.”

Cedric leaned against the counter and grinned. “I disagree. This is the place where you first came out to me. And you might find this hard to believe considering all the shite I put you through, but I think that might have been the night I started to fancy you.” He lifted his hands in front of him. “Merlin knows why.”

Once the heating spell had been set, Harry moved next to Cedric and matched his position against the counter. “I’m going to regret saying this,” he said with a slight pause, “but I’ve fancied you a bit longer than that.”

“Oh yeah?” said Cedric, eyebrow raised. A few days ago that comment would have troubled him, but now it just boosted his ego. “For how long, exactly?”

Harry mussed up his hair again and looked in the other direction. “Let’s just say I was a pretty confused kid, and you were dead sexy on a broom.”

Cedric pulled him in by the waist to plant a kiss on the side of Harry’s exposed neck. “Then I guess you could say I was a confused adult, and you’re a dead sexy babysitter.”

Harry hummed appreciatively. “I think you’re _still_ confused, Diggory.” He looked up with a pleased smile, paused a moment in thought, then asked, “What about in school?”

“School?”

“Who did you fancy back then?”

“What do you mean, who did I fancy? I was seeing Cho, remember? Right before she dumped _me_ for _you_.” Cedric thought back to the last time he had seen her, a couple of months ago. She was engaged to a banker, and seemed happy. “I wonder what she would say if she knew her two exes were shagging.”

Harry broke free of Cedric’s hold and poked his head around the doorway to check on Teddy. “No, I meant blokes. What other blokes have you fancied? I can’t be the first one.”

“Why not?” Cedric asked, perhaps a bit too quickly. Harry simply lifted his eyebrows in response, but Cedric didn’t know if he was ready to answer that question. He had only begun to ask himself the same thing, last night lying in Harry’s bed, spent but unable to sleep. What else didn’t he know about himself? Were there signs he should have noticed? Boyhood crushes he should have recognized? Was there someone else? They were questions easier asked than answered. Cedric hesitated before speaking. “There was someone,” he said slowly, “I think. Maybe. I didn’t realize how I felt at the time, but I guess looking back…”

“Who was it?” Harry prodded when he didn’t continue.

With his eyes, Cedric followed the patterns on the tiled floor. He wasn’t sure if this was more difficult to admit to Harry or to himself, and he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share. “Just a friend of mine. I’d known him for ages—we practically grew up together.”

“So what happened?”

Cedric hesitated. “He went and got himself killed at the Battle of Hogwarts,” he finally replied evenly.

Cedric felt Harry’s hand make contact with his own. The hand gave a light squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Eventually, Cedric looked up and met Harry’s eyes. What he found there was empathy and sadness and perhaps a touch of guilt, but no pity. That was a relief, because Cedric wasn’t looking for pity. He just wanted to say this out loud, and he wanted someone to listen. Matt had been his best mate, but only now did Cedric wonder if he could have been more. Much more. Who could say? Matt was dead, and he would never have the chance to find out. But maybe it explained why his death had affected him so strongly. And perhaps also why he’d spent so much of his time after the war being single.

Cedric looked down at their joined hands and turned his wrist so he could thread their fingers together. There was so much strength to be found in such a simple touch. He let some of Harry’s strength slide up his arm and enter his chest and added, “I think he broke my heart, the bastard.” His short laugh was a cover up for the stinging sensation already building behind his eyes.

Before Harry could respond, the moment was interrupted by two noises: the beeping of Harry’s wand timer and a knock at the front door. “I’ll get it,” Cedric offered. Walking to the door gave him a private moment to rub the moisture from his eyes while Harry set the table.

He took a breath and composed himself before opening the door. “Hey Hermione. Come on in.”

Hermione hesitated outside, appearing baffled to see him. “Hello, Cedric. Harry didn’t tell me you would be here.” She walked in and shot Harry an intensely questioning look across the living room.

Harry hadn’t told her? Anything? Cedric was shocked. He thought Hermione would be the first person to know about their new relationship, but here she was and by her expression she clearly hadn’t a clue. Did Harry want to keep it a secret? No, he doubted Harry was interested in any more secrets, especially from Hermione. Would Cedric have to do the coming out, then? Was he ready for that?

“Miney, Miney!” Teddy shouted. “I have a TV! I saw a movie with bears and rabbits, and they were fighting the bad guy, and there was a wolf!”

“How about you tell Hermione all about it once you’re done eating,” Harry instructed, walking over to join the other adults.

Hermione hung up her outer robes, still clearly confused by the scene in front of her. “So what is this about? Harry mentioned we had new information to go over, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. Cedric, I’m guessing the information came from you?”

Cedric nodded, then outlined how he had procured the transcript of Macnair’s trial and the incriminations it contained.

Hermione listened carefully, but the confusion never left her face. “So…this was last night? _After_ I saw you at the pub?”

“Er, yeah,” said Cedric, knowing how strange that sounded without the full story. He wanted to tell Hermione the full story. This was his opportunity to repeat all those words he’d been practicing in his thoughts, making them real by saying them out loud. But when he tried to speak his tongue felt glued to his teeth. He never thought it could be so difficult to say out loud.

“And the two of you have made up, I presume?”

Another clear opportunity to come out. He steeled himself for the confession, but before he could speak, Harry snorted and muttered, “That’s putting it mildly.”

Cedric looked at him, and Harry smirked back. Before he knew it they were both sputtering giggles like two children with a delicious secret. Perhaps it wasn’t the serious confession Cedric had expected, but there it was, out in the open, and it felt exhilarating. Hermione stared at the both of them, mouth agape.

“ _No_ ,” she said. Then she let out an alarming squeal, and hugged each of them in turn. “I can’t believe it! I’m so happy for you, both of you! What happened? I want to hear everything.”

“What happened is not exactly child appropriate,” said Harry, smiling back at Teddy who seemed more interested in what the grownups were talking about than finishing his meal.

“What happened is that I finally came around,” corrected Cedric.

“You finally came to your senses, you mean.”

Cedric laughed. “Finally came out, perhaps.”

Hermione was still flabbergasted. “I thought that maybe…but then I figured…Cedric,” she hissed with a fair bit of teasing, “you told me you were straight!”

So he had, and he’d believed it himself. Now he was something else. It would still take some time getting used to. “Not as straight as I thought, no. Believe it or not, I _can_ be wrong on occasion.” Cedric rubbed the back of his neck while Harry sniggered. “Should we get started then?”

Going through the transcript of Macnair’s trial was a slow process. What Cedric had handed to Harry the night before was only the first sheet of parchment from a sizeable stack. Hermione read the text aloud, and every name that seemed a possible candidate was debated then written down on a separate sheet.

“Jellig…” Cedric muttered. “The name sounds vaguely familiar. He doesn’t work at the Ministry, does he?”

“Well, he’s not at Azkaban,” said Harry. “Either he was exonerated, or he hid. Or he’s dead. I’ll add him to the list.”

They kept their voices down because Teddy was still within earshot, relegated to the floor where he built towers out of blocks that occasionally changed color with his hair. He wasn’t too happy with the arrangement at first. He had three babysitters, and he expected fun and games. But Harry had bribed him with dessert if he behaved, and the trick seemed to work. Teddy only interrupted on occasion to show off his creations.

“Meredith Ballesteros?” Hermione read. “Surely he doesn’t mean Robert’s daughter! I met her once, and she seemed perfectly nice. I can’t imagine—“

“Just because you can’t imagine it doesn’t mean it’s not true,” said Harry.

Cedric leaned back in his seat and sighed. “It doesn’t mean it’s true, either. That’s exactly the danger in reading this. It could all be a stack of lies. He could have invented the whole thing just to save himself from the kiss.”

“So what?” countered Harry. “Even if they were false accusations, that alone could be motive for revenge.”

“But why four years later?” said Hermione. “There’s something we’re missing. There must be something we still don’t know about Macnair.”

That’s when Cedric heard the small voice coming from the floor. At first he thought he imagined it. Teddy was not a quiet kid, and when he had something to say, he usually made sure everyone could hear it. “What was that, Teddy?” he asked.

Teddy didn’t look up from his blocks and he didn’t make a sound, and that in itself was unusual.

While Harry and Hermione continued to debate, Cedric got out of his seat to kneel on the floor. “Hey buddy, is everything all right? Did you say something just now?”

For a moment, Teddy still didn’t reply, nor did he look at Cedric. He carefully balanced a triangular block on top of a rectangle. Then Cedric heard him repeat what he had said, under his breath, as though he were talking to himself.

“Macnair is a bad man.”

Cedric frowned. How much had Teddy overheard? But they hadn’t been talking about Macnair, only those he had accused. What would make Teddy think that Macnair was a villain, like in one of his movies?

“Who told you that?” asked Cedric, as an uncomfortable train of thought started to unfold.

This time Teddy didn’t respond with words. Instead, he took a long, red cylindrical block and with a violent thwack, brought his tower crashing down. He gave the rubble a few whacks for good measure. The noise drew Harry’s attention.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Cedric was thinking. “He’s heard of Macnair…” he said slowly.

“I’m not surprised. We’ve been talking about him all night,” said Hermione.

But Cedric shook his head. No, they hadn’t been. There was something else going on. Where could Teddy have heard that name? And then Cedric remembered the black bound volume he had seen on the bookshelf the last time he was in this house. The book he still couldn’t read all the way through. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it until now.

On instinct, he stood up and raised his wand. “Accio Report.”

The Battle of Hogwarts Report flew through the air and into his open palm. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but it was easy to find. The book fell open to a page toward the end, bookmarked by an opened envelope with Harry’s name on it.

Cedric sat back down, brow furrowed, and handed the envelope to Harry. “Do you know what this is?”

Harry took the envelope and stared at his name for a long time. His expression turned hard as stone; Cedric couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that always made him nervous. Finally he said, “I know the handwriting,” and eased the contents from the envelope. Hermione cast a muffling charm that descended over them, protecting Teddy from whatever they were about to hear. With every word that Harry read out loud, his voice grew more and more distant.

 _Harry,_

 _First off, I want you to know I’m safe. You’re probably furious with me, but there’s a reason I haven’t been able to contact you. Whoever is after ~~us~~ me managed one of those illegal tracking spells, so using magic would have given away my position. I used just enough to get away, and even that was dangerous. I couldn’t get my hands on an owl until today. I think the spell is wearing off soon, but I’m staying hidden for another day or two just in case. If I’m not back by then, I’m at an abandoned store on Ackerman Street. Don’t look for me unless you’re absolutely sure you’re not being followed. I don’t know who’s after me and I don’t know why, but I don’t want you involved._

 _Tell Hermione I’m okay.  
Ron_

Hermione let out a choked sob, and when Cedric looked over she was drying her eyes with her palm, but she was smiling. “He’s okay,” she stammered. “He—he’s alive.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harry. He didn’t sound relieved like Hermione; he sounded focused. “Why was the letter _here_? How did you know it would be in that book?”

“I didn’t,” said Cedric. Then he realized that Harry didn’t know what book he was holding. Didn’t he recognize the cover? “It’s the Battle of Hogwarts Report. I had no idea that letter would be in it. I just thought it might give us more information. Have either of you read it?”

Hermione shook her head. Harry simply stated, “I don’t need to read it. I was there.”

That probably made them the only three witches and wizards in all of Europe who hadn’t read the Report. Under different circumstances, Cedric would have found that amusing. But now, he wondered: what secrets lay between these covers, waiting for him to finally gather the courage? What _was_ a letter from Ron doing wedged within its pages?

He had closed the book when he removed the letter, but now it easily fell open in his hands to the same page. Which meant the placement of the envelope wasn’t arbitrary: it was a bookmark for a passage read over and over again, read enough times to crease the binding. And there was a word, one word on that page, which immediately caught his attention: Macnair.

Cedric closed his eyes, feeling the brush of something ominous. When he opened them again, he began reading from the top of the passage, taking it in as fast as possible, tripping over the words in his mind. At first, shock kept him from processing the information. They were printed letters without meaning. He had to read it through once more for the meaning to sink in, and as it did, nausea washed over him. It was terrible. Too terrible to be put in writing. Too terrible to be published.

A familiar sense of guilt, the sharp guilt of not having been there, of not having suffered when others had suffered and died, threatened to suffocate him. He slammed the book shut and dropped it, then steadied himself with his hands on the edge of the table. When he looked up he saw that Harry and Hermione were watching him, waiting.

“What does it say?” asked Harry.

“He killed them.” Cedric kept his voice low, even though the muffling charm was still in effect. He looked to the floor to find Teddy staring back at him. Cedric had to swallow and look away before he could say the words. “Macnair killed Teddy’s parents.”

Hermione gasped audibly and her hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide. Harry didn’t move at all. There was shock and rage and pain, but it was only visible in his eyes. And when he spoke, his voice didn’t waver.

“She’s been intercepting my mail,” he said.

It was not the response that Cedric was expecting. “Who?” he asked. And then it clicked. He saw what Harry saw. Teddy’s slip; Ron’s letter; the Battle of Hogwarts Report; and Andromeda Tonks’s mysterious dates.

The three of them jumped to their feet at once.

“She knows where they are,” Hermione cried.

“We have to go,” said Harry, wand already in his hand. “ _Now_.”

“What about Teddy?” asked Cedric.

“I’ll watch him,” said Hermione. “I’ll tell him—I don’t know what I’ll tell him. Something. Just _go_!”

Teddy watched them with frightened eyes. He was still clinging to the red cylindrical block, wand-like in his tiny hands. “Harry?”

Harry paused, and took the time to sink to his knees. He placed a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Teddy. Everything’s okay. Be a good boy for Hermione, all right?” When Teddy nodded, Harry looked up at Cedric. “Do you know where Ackerman is?”

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Good. Apparate us there.”

“Be careful,” Hermione urged.

Cedric grabbed Harry’s hand, and despite everything he still felt comfort in the calloused palm that squeezed back. He concentrated on their destination, and the next moment they were there.

It didn’t take long to find the building they were looking for. As they stood on the sidewalk a crash came from nearby, and they could see shadows moving in a second floor window across the street. Cedric began to run, but Harry grabbed his wrist. He felt the pull of another Apparation, even though it was dangerous enough to Apparate to a street one barely remembered, and downright foolish to Apparate into a room one had never seen.

It was a miracle that they made it without materializing into a wall, or a chair, or another person. Before Cedric could even find his footing, he heard a woman shout, “Stay back!”

He looked around as the room came into focus. It might have been a flat once, but what was left of the furniture had been torn apart by flying spells. Mrs. Tonks, Andromeda, was on the end of the room closest to them, wielding her wand with a crazed look. She was at a stand off with Elearnor Macnair who stood several paces away, pointing her own wand back at her. She looked terrified, but she held her wand steady, and Cedric couldn’t help the thought that she was even more beautiful than in her photographs. Just behind her, crumpled against the wall, lay an unconscious Ron Weasley. And the last detail Cedric noticed, which sent a wave of sickness and fear through his body, was that there was a small pool of blood surrounding Ron’s head.

Taking in this scene took only a fraction of a second, then he and Harry were lifting their own wands, and Harry was yelling, _“What have you done?”_

He took a few steps toward Ron, but Andromeda fired a lightning-fast warning spell in Harry’s direction. “I said stay back.” There was no questioning the danger in her threat. Her face was distorted with loathing, and she bore little resemblance to the woman Cedric had met so briefly just a week ago.

“Ron needs to be taken to the hospital,” said Eleanor, slowly. Her voice was as steady as her wand.

Andromeda responded by firing a hex which Eleanor was able to block. “Nobody is leaving this room!” Cedric could feel the barely controlled magic crackling off of her. It charged the air around them. “I told him to get out of the way, but he wouldn’t. I warned him. I didn't want to hurt him, but I had no choice. It was his own fault.”

Cedric’s thoughts were racing; what was he supposed to do? He wasn’t trained for this like Harry was. The two of them could easily subdue one older woman, but not before _Avada Kedavra_ would have a chance to escape her lips. And somehow Cedric believed she was capable of those words, and any wrong move could trigger them.

He looked to Harry for instruction, and saw him taking a step toward Andromeda, so Cedric followed his lead. Whatever happened, he trusted Harry to get them through. He trusted Harry implicitly.

“Mrs. Tonks,” said Harry, as calmly as possible, “listen to me. Put the wand down. It’s over. We’re here to take you home.”

“Don’t patronize me, Harry,” she hissed. “It isn’t over until I’ve killed her.”

“That won’t accomplish anything.” Harry stayed where he was, but with one look he motioned for Cedric to get closer, and Cedric understood. He inched his way behind Andromeda while Harry spoke. “It won’t bring them back.”

“I know that!” she cried. Her wand started shaking, and she steadied it with her other hand. “It doesn’t matter. He _murdered_ her. He killed my Nymphadora. She had a son, they had a son, and he murdered them both. Why should _his_ daughter survive when _my_ daughter is dead?”

Her words made Harry pause and look at Eleanor. Cedric saw the anger flash in his eyes, the same anger from minutes ago when he first learned what Macnair had done. Briefly, Cedric wondered if a part of Harry also wanted Eleanor dead, to pay for the crimes of her father. But then Harry turned his focus back on Andromeda and said, in the same cool, reasoning tone, “She has nothing to do with this. She didn’t kill anyone.”

Andromeda shook her head. “I don’t care. I want to tear her from this earth, just as my daughter was torn from me. She doesn’t deserve to be alive!”

“And then what?” Harry pressed. “I’m not going to let you murder someone and then walk away. Or are you planning to kill me, too?” Cedric took another step closer, glad that Harry was causing enough distraction for him to go unnoticed.

“Lock me in Azkaban, then,” said Andromeda, resigned as though that had been her plan all along. “Let me rot in prison.”

“How could you do that?” shouted Harry. Cedric was alarmed by the sudden fury in his voice. Gone was the control of an Auror trying to diffuse the situation. Now it sounded personal. “How could you do that to Teddy?”

Andromeda began to blink rapidly. “I’m old, Harry. Too old to raise a child. Too old, and too tired.” And she sounded tired, as though she no longer had the energy to speak. She seemed to be conserving the last of her strength for this murder, her final act.

“Teddy needs you!”

“No, he doesn’t. Teddy needs _you_ , Harry. I trust you. I know you’ll take care of him. You’ll be a better parent to him than I could ever be. I’ve already filled out the paperwork—”

“Bullshit!” yelled Harry. “That’s utter crap! Teddy needs a family!”

“You’re his family, as much as I am,” choked Andromeda. Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. Cedric was just behind her left elbow. If he outstretched his hand, he could almost reach her wand…

“I’m not his family,” Harry stated. “I know what family means. I know what Teddy’s been through and _you don’t_.” His voice shook. He took a deep breath before continuing with more composure. Cedric could only imagine the depths of pain from which he spoke. Even now, in the midst of everything, he wanted to reach out and place a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I love Teddy more than anyone, but I can’t take your place. I can’t tell him what his mum was like when she was a little girl. I can’t tell him stories about his grandfather. I wasn’t even at his parents’ wedding.”

Andromeda’s wand was shaking now, even with both hands gripping so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Harry took a step closer, and so did Cedric. “Teddy needs you. More than you can understand. You have to trust me on that. He’s already lost so much. Don’t you _dare_ abandon him on top of everything else he’s been through.”

Andromeda began sobbing, and that’s when Cedric saw her wand lower, just a fraction of an inch. He reached out and, gently as he could, plucked it from her hands. He was surprised when he found no resistance at all. Andromeda just turned and fell into Harry’s waiting arms, crying openly, repeating the muffled words, “I just want her back. I can’t do it. I miss her so much.”

The threat had passed, and Eleanor, who had remained composed and silent the entire time, now scrambled to Ron’s side. She knelt down and gingerly held him in her arms, stroking the hair back from his forehead. “I’m taking him to St. Mungo’s,” she said to Cedric. Then she turned her head and called, “Harry.”

Harry looked at her with narrowed eyes, still supporting Andromeda in his arms, and then he looked down at Ron. Whatever emotions might have been going through his head at that moment were overshadowed by fear. “Is he…”

“I think he’ll be okay,” Eleanor assured him. “I just wanted to say…it was nice to finally meet you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Cedric did not like being in St. Mungo’s. He had too many painful memories attached to this place. The antiseptic smell, the white walls and unnatural silence, the occasional moan or medical jargon coming from behind a closed door. He felt claustrophobic, surrounded by sickness. He tensed as he walked, and tried to focus on breathing evenly.

He was hoping to be inconspicuous about it, but Harry noticed anyway. He placed a hand on the base of Cedric’s spine and slowed their pace so that Hermione could walk ahead.

“All right?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” was Cedric’s curt reply. It helped him to concentrate on Harry’s firm hand at his back. He sighed and added, “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Me neither.” They took a few steps more before Harry continued in the same low voice. “Scott told me how you volunteered here after the war.”

Cedric grimaced. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. That was the reason he had such a hard time being back in this building. “If you can call it that. I wasn’t that much help.”

Harry scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. I bet you were brilliant. Anyway, I’m sure you were more help than I would have been. I don’t think I could’ve handled it, back then…” He trailed off, as though imagining what it was like.

But Cedric didn’t have to imagine, did he? He hadn’t been brilliant, he’d been a mess. And Harry’s empty flattery just made him angry and caustic. “Something the great Potter can’t handle? I thought you could heal people with your touch.”

Harry removed his hand and gave an admonishing glare. “I’m serious,” he said. “I couldn’t have done what you did. I mean, I didn’t, did I?”

Despite the confused wording, Cedric understood his meaning. After the final battle, Harry had disappeared from public view, helping to reconstruct Hogwarts but refusing any requests to go where he might have been more needed. Cedric remembered, as though channeling the emotions of a stranger, how resentful this made him feel back then, as though it were special treatment. But now he saw his misplaced anger for what it was. He was amazed there was a time when he felt entitled to pass judgment on Harry, without stopping to consider that he was simply human like the rest of them. And when Harry said he couldn’t have handled Cedric’s work at the hospital, maybe he was telling the truth.

Instead of apologizing with words, Cedric reached an arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him close so he could place a kiss along his hairline. They broke apart when they found themselves at the door to Weasley’s room, where Hermione was waiting. She gave a nervous smile then turned the knob.

They had already talked to the healer upon arrival, and so they knew what to expect. In short, Ron had been lucky. He suffered a minor concussion and the staff wanted to monitor him overnight, but they didn’t expect any complications. “Course you can visit him,” the healer had said, distracted by someone else’s medical chart in her hand, before bustling off.

So Ron was fine, after two fearful weeks of searching. Even so, Cedric expected a heavy hush to permeate the room. He expected whispers and tense smiles. But what he heard when Hermione opened the door was unrestrained laughter.

Ron was sitting up in bed, a large, almost comical bandage wrapped around his skull. Eleanor was perched on the edge with her feet dangling over the side. They leaned towards each other, conspiratorially, and their grins recalled the happy photographs Cedric had discovered in Eleanor’s darkroom.

They both turned to the door as Hermione entered the room. Eleanor smiled politely, while Ron’s expression was an uncertain mix of delight and embarrassment. Then he noticed Cedric, and seemed to pull back on his emotions. It was enough to remind Cedric that here he was a stranger all over again. An interloper. He had never had any sort of relationship with Ron Weasley, and maybe this wasn’t the place to start one. But if Ron had any objections, he was too distracted when Hermione rushed the bed and embraced him, proclaiming how much she missed him, how worried she was, asking if he was all right.

“I’m fine, Hermione, really,” he insisted, rolling his eyes but still smiling as he hugged her back.

“He’s not fine,” Eleanor countered, teasing. “He’s mortified. Ron here doesn’t like being the one who needs rescuing, do you?”

“I’m only mortified because she’s never going to let me live this down,” he confided to Hermione.

“You’re right. Never ever.” Eleanor reached down and rubbed his hand where it rested on the covers. What struck Cedric was how comfortable they seemed with each other. He wondered if he and Harry would be like that one day.

At the present moment, however, Harry was anything but comfortable. Cedric hovered by the doorway, watching him sidelong. While Hermione fawned over Ron, Harry stood a foot or so from the bed with his arms crossed. His mouth was too tense to form a convincing smile. He seemed to be waiting, but for what?

Hermione was the one to conjure three chairs at the side of the bed, which meant both Harry and Cedric were obliged to come closer. As they sat down Eleanor stood, perhaps noticing the tension.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” she said. “Would anyone else like anything?”

Cedric appreciated her tact and was eager to join her. He made a motion to stand but Harry privately placed a hand on his thigh and pushed him back down into his seat. They shared a look; with nothing more than a furrowed brow, Harry asked him to stay. Cedric didn’t think he belonged in this tableau, but if Harry wanted him there, then of course he would oblige. He still couldn’t say no to him.

So Eleanor left, and he remained behind. There was a bit of silence before Harry said, “She seems nice,” his first words since entering the room.

The relief in Ron’s eyes was unmistakable. “She’s amazing, Harry. Really. I’m sorry you had to meet her like this. I know I should have told you sooner. But you’re going to get along brilliantly, I know you are.”

Harry looked down at his lap and clenched his jaw. The pause that followed was pregnant with the things Harry was trying not to say. Cedric could feel it.

“She doesn’t want to press charges,” Ron continued, sounding unsure now that Harry had silently withdrawn his approval. He turned to Hermione instead. “I told her she has every right to prosecute. That woman wanted to kill us. I mean, I understand what made her do it—Ellie explained everything. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to murder innocent people. I’ve survived too bloody much to deal with this kind of shit. And Ellie had nothing to do with her father and what he did.” Ron was starting to get worked up, making it clear that he would stand by his girlfriend over her father’s victims any day.

“We don’t have to make any decisions right this moment,” said Hermione. “You should be resting.”

Ron shrugged. “The decision’s been made. Like I said, Eleanor doesn’t want to press charges. She wants to put it behind us and move on, learn to forgive or some crap. That’s what she says, at least. I think it’s her way of dealing with the guilt.”

Because he was keeping a close eye on Harry, Cedric saw him glance up at that statement. Hermione began explaining that Andromeda was with Teddy now, and they didn’t think she would try to hurt anyone else. Hermione planned to send her to a psychiatrist, a _good_ one, and if there needed to be wards on the house that would warn them the moment Andromeda stepped outside, so be it. Whatever it took.

Cedric wasn’t convinced they could trust her in the long run, but he supposed Hermione was right, and those things could be decided later. This visit was about Ron, who now turned to Cedric. “By the way,” he said, “I heard you were there with Harry. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” said Cedric, relieved that Ron didn’t resent him. Maybe he had gotten too accustomed to Harry’s prickly reactions. Ron didn’t seem nearly as private, which made it all the more significant that he would hide something so huge from his supposed best friend. Cedric added, “It was Harry who diffused the situation. I was just trying to help. I’m glad that you’re okay.”

“Cedric was helping us from the beginning,” Harry suddenly chimed in. “We never stopped looking for you, you know. Even when I thought you had run off or something. Or had died in an ally somewhere.”

Harry’s tone was accusatory, and Ron winced as though the words were more painful than his wounds. “Sorry, okay? I couldn’t tell you where we were until it was safe. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I explained in that letter.”

Harry gripped the seat of his chair. “Just like you couldn’t tell me who you were with.”

“That’s _it_ ,” Hermione cried. “After everything we just went through, I’m not having you two bickering. Ronald, you never should have lied to Harry about Eleanor. I’ve said it a million times.” She crossed her arms, and her eyes flashed. “And Harry, I’m through lying for you as well. You _need_ to tell him.”

Cedric felt suddenly lightheaded. Did she mean what he assumed? Yes, he saw the look on her face, and there was no question about it: she was going to out them. She would out them both, right here, right now, with no warning and no time to prepare. How would Ron react? Cedric didn’t know him nearly well enough to guess, and that uncertainty had his heart pumping in alarm.

And yet whatever anxiety he felt must have been merely a fraction of the panic Harry was now going through. His eyes went wide as saucers behind his frames as he stared at Hermione and no one else. Cedric wanted to touch his shoulder, show him support, but he really couldn’t. It wouldn’t be a comfort, not coming from him, not now. He felt so close to Harry at that moment, with the same threat hanging over both of them, and yet so distant. After all, this was Harry’s life, not his.

“I don’t think this is the right time, Hermione,” Harry muttered. The intensity behind each word made it sound like a plea. “You said he should be resting.”

Her eyes softened, but Hermione would not be swayed. “No, Harry, this is the perfect time. You’ve waited long enough.”

“Tell me what?” asked Ron, eyes narrowed.

Harry continued to stare at Hermione. The seconds stretched, time balanced on a precarious point between a secret kept for years and the uncertain fallout. But then, Harry faced Ron and squared his shoulders, and that’s when Cedric knew he’d made his decision. Since the decision affected him as well, he also braced himself, though his main concern was for the man seated to his right. When people called Harry Potter brave, Cedric thought, they never considered this sort of bravery.

“I started seeing someone also,” Harry explained.

Immediately, Ron’s eyes swung toward Hermione, who let out a huff. “ _Honestly,_ Ron. It’s not me.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. His best mate sleeping with his ex seemed to be the extent of his imagination, and he looked as though nothing else could shock him. “Well, who is it then?”

Another pause. Cedric’s whole body was tensed. So was Harry’s, if the white knuckles against his seat were anything to go by, but his posture was confident. Finally, Harry lifted his chin and said, “It’s Cedric.” So surreal, to hear his name spoken as a confession.

Ron tilted his head and frowned. “Come on Harry, I’m serious.”

In response to that unexpected reply, Harry’s arm flew out with a Seeker’s instinct and grabbed Cedric’s hand. He held it between them, so tightly that Cedric thought his fingers would break. “So am I.”

That was enough for the truth to register. Ron blinked once, twice. And then the floodgates opened. What had been a tense, awkward exchanged quickly became an unrestrained rush of outbursts. “You’re _gay_? You’re gay and you never told me? Wait, this isn’t why you broke it off with my sister, is it? So you could take it up the arse instead?”

“Ronald!” Hermione cried. Cedric felt his face grow hot, and Harry squeezed his hand even harder.

“I can’t believe you never told me this!”

“Oh, like you never told me about your Death Eater girlfriend,” Harry hissed.

“She’s _not_ a Death Eater!” Now Ron was fuming. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you, because I knew you would feel that way.”

“You never even gave me a bloody chance, did you? I had to find out from _Cedric_ because you even had Hermione lying to me!”

Cedric really didn’t want to be drawn into their fight—he wanted to mediate it, calm everyone down so they could discuss things more civilly and avoid saying more things they would later regret. But it wasn’t his place to intervene, and anyway, the argument had taken on too much momentum. He sat back in a daze and hoped that they didn’t cause too much damage to their friendship.

“So what?” Ron was saying. “You’ve barely even talked to me since you and Ginny broke up. Why should I tell you anything?”

Harry dropped Cedric’s hand as abruptly as he’d grabbed it, pushing his hand through his hair. “What are you on about? _You_ were the one who stopped talking to _me_.”

Ron threw up his hands. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. I stopped talking to you because I knew you were hiding something from me, and see? I was fucking right. Why didn’t you ever just tell me instead of avoiding me for _years_?” Harry had no answer, and there was a brief respite in the yelling as Ron leaned back and shook his head. “Bloody hell, Harry. I can’t believe you’ve been a poof all this time, and _lying_ to me about it. The only reason I kept pushing you at Ginny was because I was worried you were going to die miserable and alone.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harry sneered.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Something occurred to Ron, and he turned his anger onto Hermione without warning. “ _You’ve_ known it all along, haven’t you?”

She just lifted her hands and shook her head. “Oh no, I’m staying out this. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both idiots.”

“Oi, and you!” This time Ron’s attention swung sharply to Cedric, and it took self-restraint not to cower under Ron’s withering gaze. “If you do anything at all to hurt him, I swear I will fuck up that pretty face of yours!”

Even though it was a threat, and even though Ron was still shouting, Cedric couldn’t stop the grin that began tugging at his lips. “Understood,” he said, suppressing a relieved chuckle. Because underneath the anger and hurt was the unmistakable concern for Harry’s welfare, as strong as Hermione’s. In its way, Ron’s warning was also his blessing. Did Harry know how lucky he was to have such good friends?

The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun, with Ron shaking his head and murmuring, “Bloody hell,” over and over. Giving in to what he’d been itching to do the entire time, Cedric reached out and lightly rubbed Harry’s arm. As they shared a look, Cedric could tell that the heaviest of weights had been lifted from Harry’s shoulders. Harry let out a sigh that was partially a shaky laugh.

“I’m glad to have you back, Ron,” he said.

Ron smiled wide, and the last of the room’s tension vanished. “Yeah. Me too, mate.”

***

Reporters and photographers swarmed the newly outed couple, barraging them with questions and flashbulbs.

For his part, Cedric thought that Ron and Eleanor were handling the attention well. Ron’s arm was wrapped protectively around Eleanor’s shoulders, holding her close through endless variations of “How did you meet?” and “What’s your relationship with your father?” Ron fielded most of the questions, answering those that were respectful and ignoring those that weren’t. Once or twice Cedric saw his temper begin to flare, but Eleanor would nudge him, they would share a look, and Ron would return to his coolheaded responses. Eleanor’s defiant gaze spoke for her, challenging anyone who would question her right to stand by his side.

Cedric could just imagine the sensationalist headlines: _War Hero’s Secret Affair With Death Eater’s Daughter_. On another day, it could easily be front-page news. But not today, he thought with no small amount of pride. The reporters and distinguished witches and wizards who had gathered in this cramped auditorium were here for a press conference, _his_ press conference, and the promise of hearing the Savior of the Wizarding World give his first public address since before the war. They had arrived in droves, from all corners of Europe, for the opportunity. Not just witches and wizards, either, but goblins and elves, a handful of muggles (including Hermione’s parents), and even one or two known squibs. Cedric could see his own father in the back, shaking hands and occasionally pointing in his direction, with a proud and embarrassing grin.

“Nervous, mate?” Scott sidled up to Cedric and patted him heartily on the shoulder. He wasn’t on duty, but on Cedric’s suggestion he was wearing his maroon Auror’s robes, showing support from Magical Law Enforcement.

Cedric turned to him with a smile, brimming with sudden affection and gratitude that Scott was here. “Not in the slightest. And you can ignore my racing pulse and perspiration, because it must be that marathon I’ve just run. Nothing to do with this.” He laughed, but it was true. He wasn’t nervous. Not anymore, at least. Last night he couldn’t stay asleep for more than ten minutes at a time, and up until an hour ago his heart felt like it was trying to break free of his rib cage and spare him the stress of going through with it. But then he had stepped through the doors of the auditorium, and a calm had washed over him. Now he was running on instinct and anticipation, adrenaline to be sure, but not nerves.

It was a sensation he’d grown accustomed to during the Triwizard Tournament all those years ago. It was the same focused calm he’d felt upon entering the maze, up until the moment when Harry grabbed the cup a second before him and vanished. And now here they both were, seven years later, on the other side of an unimaginable journey, together.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” asked Scott with a raised eyebrow, as though reading his thoughts.

Cedric shushed him and took a furtive glance around the room, but Ron and Eleanor still held the reporters’ attention. His alarm was an automatic reaction and he felt a little sheepish about it, but as he explained to Scott, “Some couples might be ready for the spotlight, but others aren’t. So keep it down, yeah? Harry’s in the back preparing.”

“I still can’t believe you got him to agree to this. Maybe _I_ should try sleeping my way to the top.”

Scott used to have a talent for getting a reaction out of him, but now it was Cedric’s turn to be lewd. Feeling cheeky and invulnerable, he leaned in and whispered, “I don’t think you have the stomach for what Harry and I get up to.”

Taking two steps backward, Scott lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re right, and I don’t want details, either.”

Before Cedric could retort, Hermione caught his attention from the front. She tapped her wrist and flashed a grin that bore all the excitement he felt. _Showtime_ , he thought. It took some minutes to get everyone settled in their seats, the majority of attendees relegated to standing room in the back and along the walls. Next time they would definitely need a larger auditorium. Cedric was already confident there would be a next time.

With everyone in place, Cedric took his own seat by Hermione at the side of the stage. She snaked her hand around his arm and gripped it tightly. The room buzzed with an impatient murmur.

Cedric thought back to just the other day when Harry first approached him and offered to make a speech. “This isn’t going to be a regular thing,” he warned. “And I’m doing it for Ron, not you.” Cedric was floored; he responded with a hand on Harry’s cheek and a kiss to his forehead, thanking him and letting him know that he understood completely. Harry then spent the entire day drafting his words, and Cedric had spent the following day revising it to within an inch of its life. But the sentiment was all Harry’s, even if the prose wasn’t.

Finally, with the swish of a curtain, Harry emerged from behind the stage holding a roll of parchment, looking every inch the celebrity he pretended not to be, and the room exploded into chaos. Those lucky enough to have chairs shot to their feet. Flashbulbs cast the stage in strobe light, and the murmur turned to a cacophony of shouts. Cedric fought the urge to step up to the podium and quiet the room, instead trusting Harry to control the crowd himself.

He did a decent job of it, too. For someone who claimed not to “do” politics, Harry possessed a natural leadership, and Cedric could see it working on the room. He stood up straight and raised his hands for silence, looking assured and sexy as all hell. Cedric was struck by a possessive pride: that was _his_ boyfriend on that stage, the one everyone had come to see, the one who now inspired an awed hush as he unrolled his parchment.

“Thank you everyone,” Harry began, “for coming here today. And thank you to Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger for all of their hard work in drafting the important bill that we are here to discuss. In just a moment, they will be explaining it in more detail and answering any questions you may have. But first, I wanted to say a few words on why I personally support the Diggory-Granger Antidiscrimination Bill.”

Hermione pressed another tight squeeze to Cedric’s arm, and he responded with a discreet grin.

Harry continued. “Four years ago, at the Battle of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters were defeated. Order was restored to the Wizarding World, equality and safety awaited those who had been persecuted, and all was well. Or so I wanted to believe. After so many months of living in fear for ourselves and our loved ones, I think we all needed to believe that the dark times had vanished, as certain as a _lumos_ charm lighting a room. And so we returned to our daily lives, to our old habits and values, and we thought that it was enough. _I_ thought that it was enough.

“But as the years have passed, I’ve learned that we are still fighting. Anti-muggle sentiment continues to contaminate the corners of our society. Magical creatures are still considered lesser beings, despite their valor alongside us in war.” Here, Harry paused and swallowed, and Cedric knew he was thinking of his friend Dobby. “Blood status still holds weight, as well as shame. And good witches and wizards are judged by whom they are related to.

“When I joined the Aurors, it was so I could continue doing my part in keeping our world safe. Yet there are some things that are beyond an Auror’s scope. I cannot stop a muggle-born wizard from being turned out of his home. I’m powerless when a witch is blacklisted from work due to her last name. When a squib or a goblin is taunted on the street, I’m asked to turn the other way.”

Up until now, Harry had kept his eyes on his parchment despite Cedric’s coaching to make plenty of eye contact. But when he spoke the next sentence, he made a point to look defiantly out over the crowd. “This is me refusing to turn the other way. We’ve come too far as a society to say ‘good enough.’ And telling each other that we’ve learned our lesson will not prevent the daily discrimination that others must face. I no longer believe, as I once did, that all is well. But I _do_ believe that we can make it so.

“Thank you for your time. I’ll now turn the conference over to Hermione Granger and Cedric Diggory.”

He began to roll up his parchment, and the room once again broke out into pandemonium. So many questions were being shouted at once that none could be discerned, but it didn’t matter since Harry had no intention of answering questions. He had said what he’d come to say, and Cedric agreed that it was more than enough.

Time seemed to slow as Cedric and Hermione stood together. When they passed Harry on their way to the microphone, Harry turned his head and shared one sweet flash of smile. It was so brief, like a candle’s flicker, but in it Cedric saw pride, and relief, and ‘good luck’ and ‘congratulations,’ and perhaps a touch of ‘you and I are going to celebrate tonight.’ Harry Potter might be a mystery to the reporters in the front row, like he had once been to Cedric, but now Cedric could read him like an open book.

Harry once again disappeared behind a curtain, and Hermione finally released Cedric’s arm as they both approached the podium. Beyond nerves and beyond calm, Cedric stood bathed in the light of a hundred cameras, feeling serene, focused, and above all, ready. Ready to usher in a new chapter of Wizarding Britain. Ready for a new chapter in his life.


End file.
